LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Cliap.. __. Copyright No. 

Slielf.......B..5S 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



DAY DREAMS, 



BY 



/ 



CHARLES REEKIE. 



Or CO.V,^, 



)PVfi/G/y 



DEC301B95/ I 



I,. D. ROBERTSON & SON, Printers and Publishers, 

No. 93 Warren Street. 

1895. 






COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY CHARIvES REEKIE. 



TO MY ESTEEMED FRIEND, 
ROBERT MORRISON, 

FIFESHIRE, SCOTLAND, 

I DEDICATE THESE PAGES. 
Beatcs Memories. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Introductory . . . . . , . . . . . . i 

Oh, Weeping Muse, be Still 6 

Oh, Sing a Sang when I am Gane . . . . . . 7 

Columbia . . . . . . . . , . . . . . 7 

Imitation of Browning . . . . . . . . . . 8 

Shall I No More ? 10 

Whaur My Ain Lassie Dwells 11 

Na, Na, Johnnie Lad . . . . > , . . . . 12 

Meditation .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 12 

'Twas Midnight „ 13 

The Second Deluge . . . . . . . . . . 17 

A Thought 20 

Scotland Forever ! 21 

The Sparrow . . . . . . . . 22 

Carphin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 

Awake ! My Love . . . . . . . . . . 24 

A Song of Jersey Shore . . . . . . 25 

Leaves 26 

Fair Belmar by the Sea 28 

Farewell . . . . . - . . . . . . . . 29 

A Fragment 30 

The Auld Kirkyaird . 31 



CONTENTS 

Fare Thee Well ! 

A Question 

Forget Thee ? 

Profit and Loss 

A Memory 

I Ken ae Hoose 

I Love the Land of Cloudy Skies 

Past and Present 

A Vision 

Better than Gold 

Margaret's Ride 

Moses Brown 

A Wish 

The Scottish Shepherd 

Only a Child 

Live the Republic ! 

In Memory of John Reid 

The Hungry Politician 

Golden Grains 

When Jamie Meets wi' Me 

A Legend of Roslin Castle 

Oh, Let Me Roam ! 

Mary 

When Sandy Gaed Awa' 

Let Me Die 

The Hame where I was Born 

I Like a Rainy Day 

Bessie's Poplin Dress 

Gae Bring to Me a Heatherbell 

Song of the Prairie Maid 

Meet Me where the Coverts Ring 



CONTENTS. 

My lyove cam' owre the Ivomond Hills 

The Maid of Baltimore 

To Margaret 

Sing of Ivove, the Maiden said 

A Pearl 

Auld Scotland's Hills 

First Love • 

Ode to Women 

Sandy Scott 

Ring out the Bells ! 

Toddy 

Sweeties 

I Dreamt of Thee 

Nellie Graham 

Let Me Die as the Brave Should Die 
Annie Lee . • 

Long Ago .. 

On Hearing a Lady Sing "Love Not" 
Where are Now the Old Graveyards ? 

A Scrap 

Despair 

A Dream 

Last Nicht a Lass cam' owre the Lea 

A Sigh 

Bury Me Not 'neath Sculptured Domes 
In a Dream of the Night 

Lines addressed to Miss Julia C 

The Infinite . 

The Poet 

Who Shall Write the Page Immortal ? 
Blank Leaf Presentation 



PAGE 
89 
90 

91 

92 
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93 

94 

95 

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102 

103 

103 

104 

105 

106 

107 

108 

109 

no 

112 

113 
114 
116 
116 
117 
118 
120 
121 
122 
123 
125 



CONTKNTS. 

Lines on the Birthday of Robert Burns 

An Invocation 

Blow On, ye Winds ! . - 

My Little Maid .. 

Never to See Thee Again 

Lines to Mrs. Y 

A Vision 

Ae Mair Sang before we Part 

Think of Me 

A Day in the Woods .. 

The Owl 

My Love's Gane Owre the Sea 

In Memoriam 

Can It Be So? 

A Wife's Lament 

Fancy 

The Outlaw 

A Question 

The Cot where I was Born 

Corabel 



PAGE 
126 

128 
129 

136 

137 
138 

»39 
143 
144 

145 
148 
152 
153 
157 
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161 




DAY DREAMS. 



Inti^oductof^y. 
I. 

Dear Reader: I have named these broken stanzas 
"Day Drkams," because I have a dreamy notion 
That scarce a reader breathes from Maine to Kansas 
But must have felt that half-awake emotion 
That dreams enshrine. 'Tis a devotion 
That will repay the worshiper, indeed — 
The more especially as it owns no creed. 

II. 

There was a time when this great globe was younger, 

Ere Mammon worship had become the rule, 

Or nations felt that democratic hunger 

Which seems the gospel of the modern school, — 

Ere folly taught that every common fool 

Was born a sovereign, whom the devil meant 

For either scavenger or President ! 



2 DAY DREAMS. 

III. 

I know it was before the age of rings, 
Or the grand art of Printing was invented ; 
I know that I have read of certain things 
That certain hoary sages represented, 
And places, too, that ancient bards frequented — 
Such as the temples of prophetic women, 
Somewhere in Greece, where men were fond of 
dreaming. 

IV. 

But we are moderns, and old Greece is dead — 
I mean that Greece that gave the world its dreams. 
Yet though her temples in the dust are laid, 
And hushed is now the music of her streams. 
And time's murk night has half obscured her beams, 
Yet who will say, despite her modern fetters. 
The world has not been better for her letters? 

V. 

Besides, there was the later mighty Rome, 
Whose thunders shook the empires of the globe ; 
Against whose fame the sea of Time, like foam. 
Breaks all in vain, as still our pulses throb 
Beneath the shadow of her Caesar's robe ; 
Yet though her heroes were malignant schemers, 
It's history now that they, like us, were dreamers. 



DA Y DREAMS. 

VI. 

And later still, behold the Norman host 
lyanding its prows upon old Albion's strand, 
And hear the victor's shout, the battle lost, 
And mothers weeping for their fatherland — 
Their slaughtered sires in heaps upon the sand. 
Yet who asserts this subject of my theme 
Was not the logic of the victor's dream? 

VII. 

And dreaming still next comes the brave exile. 

The Plymouth hero of an iron faith. 

Dreaming his dream, through suffering, want and toil 

He hears the savage yell with bated breath, 

Contented there to die a martyr's death, 

Or waste his years in solitude supreme — 

The self-deluded victim of a dream. 

VIII. 

And you, fair reader, what the theme that thrills 
Thy life's young pulses, when the moon is low? 
And whence this gazing at the distant hills. 
Counting the fleeting moments all too slow ; 
While nursing there thy self-deluded woe, 
Thy young eyes dim, thy tender bosom rent? — 
'Tis but the illusive dream of sentiment ! 



4 DAY DREAMS. 

IX. 
Next in review the youthful mother's joy, 
Crowding her life with hope, and trust and tears, 
In love's prospective— sees her fair young boy 
Become the crowning treasure of her years, 
And in the airy temple that he rears 
She sees his rising sun's immortal beam ; — 
'Tis but, alas ! the vapor of a dream ! 



X. 

And next behold the conqueror of kings — 
That heartless tryant of a nation's dower — 
Who shadowed earth beneath his vampyre wings. 
And shook the thrones of empire with his power ; 
Now mark him caged, the vulture of an hour. 
Poor wingless moth of hell's illusive dream, 
Who reared his throne upon the bayonet's gleam ! 

XI. 

Next comes with lofty brow the poet seer : 
With eagle glance he scans the morning star. 
That marks the dawn of earth's millennial year. 
And hears the song of freedom from afar. 
Ringing the knell of carnage and of war, — 
When love shall reign o'er mountain, vale and stream, 
And life become one universal dream ! 



DAY DREAMS. 

XII. 

And even he, the serf-slave of the soil, 
Whose willing ploughshare turns the lifeless sod. 
Dreams of a crowning glory for his toil, 
And patient as the ox bows to his load, 
Treading the paths his fameless fathers trod. 
Far from the crowded city's ceaseless hum, 
Yet dreams of harvests in the years to come ! 

XIII. 

But mark the lettered slab, the crumbling scroll, 
That crowd the silent cities of the dead ; 
And read the piteous longing of the soul 
In meanless epitaph, where all are laid, 
From lisping childhood to the silver head. 
And see where desolation reigns supreme — 
The final drama of life's hopeless dream ! 

XIV. 

Thus ends the chapter of the life of man, 

In day dreams as the silent ages go — 

A kind of lunar aid in Nature's plan. 

Or heaven-sent Balm of Gilead for life's woe. 

So in these pages may the reader find 

Some solace for the ills of humankind ; 

And like an echo from wild mountain streams. 

They help his weary soul to pleasant dreams i 



DAY DREAMS. 



^H, 'VfEEPlJMQ flu^E, ;pE ^TILL. 

Oil, weeping muse, be still, 

Go ! sleep thy dreams away ; 
No native song, from brook or rill, 

Shall rouse thy slumbering lay ; 
No gentle thrill of bird, 

With echo's soft prelong, 
From brake or bower is heard, 

To wake thy latent song. 

No distant peaks arise. 

No sun -robed hills are seen, 
Nor heaven-toned skylark in the skies 

Floats o'er soft vales of green ; 
No Summer strains from leafy shades 

Their lingering notes diffuse. 
Nor murmur heard from distant glades, 

To wake thy slumbering muse. 

But in this second Babel drear 

The fiends of barter rule. 
And for the skylark's song I hear 

The laughter of the fool ! 
Then weep, oh muse ! thy harp is still ; 

Exiled from brook and river, 
These pent-up shadows, bleak and chill, 

Have hushed thy song forever ! 



DAY DREAMS. 

K)h, jSljMQ A ^AJMQ WHEJM I AJM {^ANE. 

Oh, sing a sang when I am gane, 

To some auld Scottish air, 
Around yon hamely auld hearthstane. 

Where I will sing nae mair. 

Oh, sing it on my native hills, 

Amang the heather bells, 
Or whaur the ringing mavis trills 

His love song in the dells. 

Oh, sing it in the gloaming hour, 

In love's deserted shrine, 
And wake again in yon auld bower 

The echoes of lang syne. 

Oh, sing a sang when I am gane, 

To some auld Scottish air, 
Around yon hamely auld hearthstane. 

Where voices sing nae mair. 



jIloLU/VlBIA. 

Columbia, dean child of the ages, thou 

Hast much to reckon with the age to be : 
lyong ma}^ the crown of justice wreath thy brow — 
Right not might, the standard on each prow 

That bears thy starry flag from sea to sea ; 
Nor cancerous env}" warp thy native power, 
Nor craven bluster e'er bequeath its dower, 

But as thine eagle, may thy heart be free ! 



DAY DREAM S. 



IjVIITATIOJM of ^ROWNIjMQ. 

No, this is not a song — not by any means ; 

No, nor a sermon, if you come to that ; 

So, friend, use your ears ; say it is — what ? — 
A salad of wit, or a hotch-potch of greens, 

Or a half-hour wasted in chat ? 

Come, let us move up to the grate. 

While I hand you this old arm chair: 
'Tis cold when minus our hair. 

If we have not a rag on our pate — 

A theorem we needn't debate. 

Heavens ! how the sash rattles ! hear the snow 
Beating a tattoo of death on the bars. 
And hiding the moon and the stars. 

'Tis not a night to have the fire low; 
No, sir — the thought of it jars ! 

How it blusters and roars, like voices 

Howling in the chimney, as if the dead 
Had come out of their graves to invade 

The house and harrow us with their voices — 
(Just touch the bell there for the maid !) 

Thanks ; this is the birthday of my daughter ; 
'Tis her twentieth year at midnight : 
I remember she came in moonlight — 

(Yes, Janet, a little hot water — 

That's the gin standing next to your right !) 



DAY DREAMS. 

Drink hearty ! I like to remember 
Those milestones of time as we go, 
For life has its ebb and its flow, 

And that memorable night in December 
lyooms up from the long, long ago. 

You know time is naught but a notion — 
A mere figure of speech, nothing more ; 
For suppose we were dead as a door, 

And minus the sense of emotion, 

Could we tell number one from a score? 

Or suppose that this thing called our planet 
Were nothing but ocean and land, 
The terra being principally sand, 

With no living mortal upon it, 

And no rules of arithmetic at hand — 

Could time, with life unrelated. 

Know a month or a week or a day? — 

Imagine a cycle of clay. 
And you see the whole thing as debated ; — 

Do you master my logic, I pray? 

Reducto ad absurdum, a fable — 

A something in nothing, don't you see, 
That this moment is all that can be; — 

(Will you please to move up to the table, 
And try this last mixture with me ?) 



lO DAY DREAMS. 



'pw^hh I JN[0 floRE? 

And shall I tread no more my native hills, 
Nor hear again the music of its dells, 
Nor catch the soft refrain of Sabbath bells, 

Nor drink at noon the freshness of its rills? 

Shall I no more, when Summer hours are long, 
Dream o'er the shadows of the misty lea, 
Nor watch the wonder of the distant sea, 

Nor hear again the ringing skylark's song? 

Shall I no more in gloaming's fading light 
listen the echoes from the vales below, 
Nor watch the sinking sunset's latest glow, 

Fade 'neath the curtain of imperial night ? 

Shall I no more where mountain wilds are free 
Feel the pulsations of the Summer air, 
As if the soul of Nature lingered there, 

And voices of creation spoke with me? 

Shall I no more from aerial heights untrod, 
See the deep vision of the age to be. 
When all shall know the Man of Galilee, 

And every creed the one eternal God ? 

Shall I no more feel love's impassioned strife 
Thrill the wild pulses of my longing youth? 
Or shall the atheist's dictum be the truth, 

And every hope and purpose end with life? 



BAY DREAMS. 



A/yHAUR ^Y ^yVlJM La&31E JwELL^. 

The heather grows around the knowes, 

Abune the ferny dells, 
And a' alane there stands the hame 

Whaur my ain lassie dwells. 
And buds o' blue and thistle too, 

A' mixed wi' dead man's bells, 
Are blooming round the auld stane wa's 

Whaur my ain lassie dwells. 

There's naething there, frae kirk or fair, 

To draw your city swells. 
But a' around is bleak and bare 

Whaur my ain lassie dwells. 
But though its thack is auld and black, 

The reeking chimney tells 
There's kindly mirth around the hearth 

Whaur my ain lassie dwells. 

Let city lairds deck oot their yairds 

Wi' grots o' auld sea shells, 
Gie me the wale o' guid green kail 

Whaur my ain lassie dwells. 
And let cauld hearts in crowded marts 

Seek gowd in gambling hells, 
The gold for me shall ever be 

Whaur my ain lassie dwells ! 



12 DAY DREAMS. 

JHa, JSa, Johnnie J^ad. 

Na, na, Johnnie lad, 

Ye maunna think o' me ; 

Na, na, Johnnie lad. 

The thing can never be ! 

Na, na, Johnnie lad. 

Although my heart is free, 

I ken it weel, my bonnie lad. 
We never could agree ! 

Na, na, Johnnie lad, 

They've yet to plant the tree 
That has to grow the green, green wud, 

To build a hoose for me ! 

Na, na, Johnnie lad, 

So dinna bother me. 
But gae your gate, my bonnie lad, 

And leave me here to dee ! 



^EDITATIOJM. 

When the weary earth is sleeping. 
And the solemn winds are sighing, 
And fond watching eyes are weeping 
Where their stricken loves are dying, 
'Tis then I speed on Fancy's wings 
And fleet away from human strife, 
To ponder o'er these solemn things, 
That show the awful depths of life. 



DA V DREAMS. 13 



'JWA3 ^IDNIQHT. 



'Twas midnight, 'twas midnight, 
And the city's thousands slept 

Beneath a thousand curtains bright : 

Some had gone with bosoms light. 
While some, alas ! had wept. 

Slowly woke the midnight bell. 

O'er the silent streets it fell, 

Pealing like a midnight knell, 
That time was watching yet. 

'Twas midnight, 'twas midnight, 

And the silent stars looked down 
Over tower and attic height 
Where the licensed scribblers write 

The scandal of the town ; 
And the shadows, dense and long. 
Deepened in the alleys strong, 
Where the shambles rang with song 
Of mountebank and clown. 

And the echoes sent their swell 

Through the festering haunts of crime, 
Where illusion held its spell 
In the gambler's gilded hell, 

With women, mirth and wine ; 
And the drunkard's oath profane. 
Reeking from his maddened brain, 
Where the sons of Satan reign, 

Amidst their tinsel slime. 



14 



DA Y DREAMS. 

And the echoes still repeating, 

With their deep, ominous roll, 

Where the pulse of death was beating, 

And the eyes of love were weeping 
For some swift departing soul ; 

And the felon heard his knell 

In his death-enshrouded cell, 

Where it seemed, with deepening swell 
To roll from pole to pole. 

And the watcher heard its chime 
Where the self-destroyed lay, 
I^ike a trumpet sound of time 
Wailing out its dismal rhyme 
O'er that thing of clay- 
Over shrouded mounds of death 
Till it rung its iron breath, 
As if pealing o'er the earth 

The dawn of judgment day. 

'Twas midnight, 'twas midnight, 

And the car of Time rolled on 
O'er the attic's giddy height. 
Where beneath the taper light 
A woman watched alone : 
Pale and hollow was her cheek. 
And her eyes were sunk and meek. 
While her pulse beat faint and weak 
Through hands of skin and bone. 



DA Y DREAMS. 15 

And the fireless hearth was cold 

In that wretched attic cell, 
Where with faded locks of gold, 
Dreaming of the da3^s of old. 

She heard that midnight bell — 
Heard out from the spectre trees. 
Floating on the midnight breeze 
Like an anthem from the seas, 

Songs of her native dell. 

And she dreamt of scenes of childhood. 

When her skies were cloudless blue — 
Dreamt of where the rustic stile stood 
And the path through brake and wild wood. 
Where the flowers of childhood grew : 
And she heard the copses ringing, 
Where her native birds were singing, 
While her youthful feet were springing 
O'er the meads of silver dew. 



And she felt her pulses beating 

'Neath the twilight's trysting tree, 
Heard the tempter's lips repeating, 
While her dreaming eyes were weeping 

For that promise ne'er to be : 
And she dreamt of hope and gladness, 
Smiling in her dream of sadness, 
Till she wakes to want and madness 
In that home of misery ; — 



l6 DA Y DREAMS. 

Woke to feel that life was fading 

With the taper's dying ray, 
While the mist of death was shading, 
All the powers of life invading, 

As sensation passed away ; 
But as sunlight brings the morrow 

When the shades of night decay, 
So this soul of sin and sorrow 

Passed on to eternal day ! 

Soft the breath of dawn is sighing 

Through the broken window bars, 
And the shadows there are dying 
Where a thing of clay is lying 

'Neath the silent morning stars : 
There they found her where she perished 

In that dreary attic cell, 
But the name or love she cherished 

Not a line was found to tell. 

'Tis midnight, 'tis midnight, 

And its central hour has pealed, 
Ringing outwards 'neath the starlight 

O'er yon ghastly Potter's Field ; 
O'er the nameless mounds it lingers 

lyike a death song midst the gloom, 
Where no feet nor loving fingers 

Wait to deck that nameless tomb ! 



DA V DREAMS. IJ 



Jhe ^ecojmd Jeluqe. 

'Tis said, by those who ought to know, 
That some day hence the ice and snow 

Gathering round the southern pole 
Will produce a sudden squall, 
Canting this terrestrial ball 

So the ocean floods will roll. 
Sinking nations in their sweep 
Perhaps a thousand fathoms deep. 

And drowning every living soul ! 

'Tis a horrid declaration, 
This destruction of creation ; 

Yet it seems as plain to me 
As a question in addition. 
Simple in its definition 

As the rule of two and three — 
If preponderance you venture. 
To outweigh the axis centre, 

Then you must cant up the sea ! 

Then the ocean, as you know. 
Over all the land must flow, 

lyike a blizzard from the sky ; 
Thus the continents must sink 
Quicker than an eye may wink. 

While the helpless millions die. 
'Tis an awful consummation, 
This, the sequel of creation — 

Yet it may not be a lie ! 



l8 DA V DREAMS. 

If you wish the theme to grapple, 
Let us test it with an apple : — 

First, we run a needle through, 
One end here, the other there, 
So the ball is balanced fair ; 

Now, if gravitation's true, 
Take the balance from the pole 
And you must upset the whole. 

I can see it ; cannot you ? 



Certain, then, is our destruction. 
As a natural deduction : 

If we cannot live in water, 
And the land goes 'neath the sea. 
What becomes of you and me 

But to perish in the slaughter. 
Buried deep, without a casket? 
Not a chance for Moses' basket, 

Or a second Pharaoh's daughter ! 



Now, 3^ou may propound the query. 
Whence this scientific theory? 

Has it not been spoken higher 
That the final end should be. 
Of the mountains and the sea, 

With a flood of molten fire ? 
When the final morning came 
All the dead would rise again ? — 

Tell me, then, who is the liar? 



BAV DREAMS. 19 

If the first of these be nigh, 
What a fate for you and I ! — 

Standing here upon the brink 
When the flood of ocean comes 
Like a foe with mufiled drums, 

And the quaking mountains sink. 
Quicker than the lightning flash 
Comes the ruin, wreck and crash. 

Ere a soul has time to think ! 



What a fearful desolation 
Must befall this mighty nation, 

All its greatness gone, alas ! 
What a horrid state of things ! — 
End of democratic rings ; 

Not a demagogic ass 
Left to run the boodle poker, 
Not a Grover or a Croker — 

Reformation gone to grass ! 



Will the mother clasp her child. 
When that scene of terror wild 

Rings with earth's destructive knell ? 
Will the parting throb be less 
In the lover's last caress, 

In that hurried, wild farewell ? 
Will the miser clutch his gold. 
Or the bigot's beads be told, 

In that awful hour of hell ? 



20 DAY DREAMS. 

Here's a nut for those to crack 
Who are ever on the rack 

Preaching faith instead of deeds 
Searching in the dust of ages, 
While the human battle rages, 

Reaping only wealth of weeds ; 
Building up a second Babel, 
While the brainless bigots cavil 

O'er the rubbish of the creeds ! 

Tell me, fathers, can it be 
True, this theory of the sea ? 

Can the race be nearly run, 
Promise of millenniiim day, 
lyike a vapor, passed away, 

Ere the promised goal is won ? 
Shall this great terrestrial ball 
Perish in a sudden squall, 

Like a bubble in the sun ? 



7^ Yhouqht. 

Most things we hear and see only differ in degree ; 
Thus the gleeful frog, in his cheerless bog. 
Croaking his note from his tuneless throat. 
In response to his being, is true to the All-Seeing 
As the sweet prelong of the skylark's song, 
As it gladdens the sun when the zenith is won. 
Or the eagle's call from his cloud-capped wall, 
Or the soft-toned wail of the nightingale. 



DAYDREAMS. 21 



^GOTLAND ]^0I^EVZ:R ! 

Scotland, my native land, 

Still true to thee, 
I tender my heart and hand. 

Land of the free ; 
And while my heart shall beat 

Or my pulses quiver, 
Still shall my lips repeat, 

Scotland forever ! 

Long may your rocky glens 

Ring out the jubilee. 
Out from your rocky bens 

And onward to the sea ! 
Land of the misty dells, 

Mountain and river. 
Land of free Sabbath bells, 

Scotland forever ! 

Never may the foeman's feet 

Tread your happy shore. 
While your hardy sons repeat, 

Onward evermore ! 
And where'er your sons may die, 

Where the squadrons sever. 
Still ring out the battle cry, 

Scotland forever ! 



22 DAY DREAMS. 

And the coming ages bringing 

Grander deeds to crown your page, 
Down your peaceful valleys ringing 

Onward to the golden age. 
lyand of the heather bell, 

Mountain and river, 
Land where the eagles dwell, 

Scotland forever ! 



Jhe ^PARROW. 



I like to see the sparrow trip 

Across my window sill. 
And watch the little fellow tip 

His toilet with his bill. 

I love to hear his chirrup call 

Beneath the morning sky. 
And see him watching on the wall 

To breakfast on a fly. 

I learn a lesson from his life — 

To hate all human greed, 
The folly of ambition's strife. 

The little that I need. 

God help the wretch, with instincts mean. 
Who fills a sphere so narrow, 

Who bows before the Nazarene, 

And yet would starve a sparrow ! 



DAY DREAMS. 23 



j^ARPHIJM, 



The wind blaws cauld frae Norman's Law, 
The woods are blae and thin, 

And a' the hills are white wi' snaw 
That lies around Carphin. 

The heather hills are bleak and bare, 
The glens a' wrapped in gloom. 

And weary linties sing nae mair 
Amang the yellow broom. 

There's silence on the Emley Hill, 
Where youth's fond echoes rang. 

And lilac bowers are hushed and still, 
Where once the mavis sang. 

My native ha' is cauld and hoar. 

Where raging tempests blow. 
And round its hearth is heard no more 

The songs of long ago. 

And silent glade, and brake and bower 

By winter blasts are torn, 
Where Fate has ta'en love's early flower 

And left the leafless thorn. 

The Spring again will deck the lea, 

Whaur wimpling burnies rin. 
But Spring will bring nae mair to me 

The voices of Carphin. 



24 DAYDREAMS. 

yVwy\KE, flv JaOVE ! 

Awake, my love ! the morning wakes, 
The dawn is on the sea. 

And from afar 

The morning star 

Sends greeting, love, to thee. 

Awake, my love ! pale night awaits 
To shake his mantle free, 

And in the east 

Aurora's feast 

Is waiting, love, for thee. 

Awake, my love ! the flowers await 
Thy footsteps on the lea, 

And crystal brooks, 

In shady nooks, 

Are murmuring, love, for thee. 

Awake, my love ! the brake resounds 
With song of bird and bee. 

And dewy bells, 

In leafy dells, 

Fill nectar cups for thee. 

Awake, my love ! awake ! awake ! 

The dawn is on the sea. 
And on the shore 
The waves encore 

lyOve's morning song for thee. 



DAY DREAMS. 25 



^ ^ojsfQ OF Jersey ^hore. 

Let me sing a song of my dead young love, 

That sleeps by the Jersey shore ; 
Let me sing a song of my dead lost love, 

That will sing with me no more ; 
Let me look again at the setting sun, 

From the strand where we sat together ; 
Let me hear the song of the autumn woods, 

For my love is still forever. 

Let me see the stars come out again. 

And the moon come up from the sea ; 
Let me see the sails of the distant ships, 

For my love is lost to me ; 
Let me hear the peal of Summer bells, 

That cheered us long ago, 
And sit alone on the silver sand, 

Where my loved one sleeps below. 

Let me gather there, on that lonely shore, 

The treasures of the sea. 
And weave again, with silver shells, 

A lover's wreath for thee ; 
There let me sing our bridal song. 

Where the breakers wild encore. 
Till I lie down to rest with thee 

On Jersey's silver shore. 



26 BAY DREAMS. 

JaEAVE^. 

Drop ! drop ! drop ! 

Oh, silent, fading leaves ; 
Drop ! drop ! drop ! 
In valley, dell and grot, 

Oh, leaves. 

Here, falling one by one, 
There drooping twos and threes, 
Symbolical of man 
As thy brief season ran, 
Oh, leaves. 

We tremble as you fall 
In the sighing autumn breeze, 
By brake and moss-clad wall, 
Like dying Nature's pall, 
Sad leaves. 

How green on every stem, 
Upon the summer trees ; 
How like the race of men. 
Laughing in brake and fen. 
Green leaves. 

And in the morning air, 
The green-clad forest heaves. 
Through meads and valleys fair, 
In myriads everywhere, 
Green leaves. 



DAY DREAMS. 27 



But hear the passing moan 
Among the winter trees, 
Like Nature's requiem song 
For generations gone, 
Of leaves. 

And the biting winds shall pass 
Where the silent brooklets freeze, 
L/ike human hopes — alas ! 
As you moulder in the grass, 
Sad leaves. 

But the breath of Spring shall come. 
With its life-restoring breeze, 
And the crystal brooks shall run, 
And the forest hide the sun 
With leaves. 

And again, on every stem, 
Upon the Summer trees, 
You'll laugh in brake and fen, 
lyike another race of men, 
Green leaves. 

Thus as the seasons pass. 
Poor, weary man perceives 
That soon he, too, alas ! 
Must moulder 'neath the grass, 
lyike the leaves. 



28 DAY DREAMS. 



]^AIf\ i^ELJVlAF^-BY-THE-^EA. 

I've stood upon the bounding deck 

Where ocean's tempests roar, 
And heard the Arctic thunders break 

On Greenland's icy shore ; 
I've watched the golden sunset gleam 

Across the tropic lea, 
But the greenest spot on memory's dream 

Is Belmar-by-the-Sea. 

I've roamed alone through pathless glades, 

Where Indian skies are clear, 
And heard the song of her dusky maids, 

In the vales of fair Cashmere, 
And dreamed where echo still enfolds 

The Arabian maiden's glee ; 
But the fairest scene that memory holds 

Is Belmar-by-the-Sea. 

I've heard the curfew fading still 

On gloaming's soft decay, 
And heard the flute-toned bulbul thrill 

The wilds of far Cathay ; 
But sweeter than the wildbird's note. 

Fond fancy turns to thee, 
The gem of memories unforgot — 

Fair Belmar-by-the-Sea. 



DA V DREAMS. 29 

Farewell, sweet vision of a dream, 

I can forget thee never, 
For I shall love what thou hast been 

Forever and forever ! 

The hours may come, the years may go. 

All other ties to sever, 
Bui I shall love thee, weal or woe, 

Forever and forever ! 

Where'er I roam, by land or sea, 

By mountain, brake, or river, 
My weary soul will turn to thee 

Forever and forever ! 

My maddened brain wdth fever's chill 

On reason's brink may quiver, 
But thou shall be my idol still, 

Forever and forever ! 

For thou hast been life's sweetest dream, 

lyOve's wildest, briefest fever ; 
But all is past (that might have been). 

Forever and forever ! 

Farewell, sweet vision of a day, 

I can forget thee never ; 
All other memories may decay, 

But thine shall be forever ! 



30 



DA Y DREAMS. 



yV ]^RAQ)V1ENT. 

The tide is high, the moon is low, 
The sea breaks on the shore, 

And soon from me my love must go 
To where the billows roar. 

The strain is on the cable chain. 

The sails are flapping free ; 
When shall the winds waft back again 

My sailor lad to me? 

The watch has struck the midnight bell. 
His bark bounds onward, free ; 

Above the storm I send farewell. 
Oh, sailor lad, to thee. 

The morning breaks beyond the bar, 

No sail is on the sea, 
But still, beneath the morning star, 

She waits, alone, for thee. 

The tide is low, the cliffs are sad. 

No sail is on the sea ; 
Beneath the sand, oh, sailor lad. 

She waits, alone, for thee. 



DA V DREAMS. ^I 



JhE ^ULD j<^IRK YaI^D, 

I remember it still, the auld kirk 3^ard, 

With its circling walls, where the weary are laid. 

And the rude old gate, aye locked and barred, 
That only opened for the dead ; 

And the roofless kirk, where ivy empalls 

The grass-grown mounds and the crumbling walls. 

And the tablets rude, and the moss-covered stones, 
With their mouldering dates of long ago, 

And the pillared slabs, with skulls and bones, 
That roofed the graves of the dead below ; 

And the bulging roots of the ancient trees. 

That moaned their requiem in the breeze. 

Oh, shrouded mound, but an acre wide, 
That blinks alone on that desolate lea ; 

Oh, roofless kirk, while centuries glide, 
What sacred dust you hold for me ! 

What voices hushed in your voiceless air, 

What forms at rest, what memories there ! 

And centuries come, and centuries go. 

And age after age in your dust are laid. 

And the flowerless grass on your mounds shall grow. 
Where the living shall come to bury the dead ; 

And the sire and the son rest under the sod, 

The rich and the poor, in this acre of God. 



32 



DA V DREAMS. 

]^'are Jhee ¥/ell ! 

Fare thee well, land of my childhood, 
Rocky glen and flowery dell, 

Mountain, valley, brake and wildwood, 
Scenes of childhood, fare thee well ! 

Swift my lonely bark is stealing 

Where the midnight winds shall sigh, 

And to-morrow's dawn revealing 
Naught to me but sea and sky. 

Still farewell to vale and mountain, 
Yellow broom and heather bell, 

Wimpling brook and crystal fountain. 
To each, to all, a last farewell ! 

Still for me my love is waiting 

Where the twilight shades decay, 

And my native bowers are shaking 
With the pulse of closing day. 

Still my native bells are ringing 

Far beyond the harbor bar, 
Where the nightingale is singing 

lyonely to the evening star. 

Dreaming on my heaving pillow, 
I can hear our parting knell. 

Ringing louder than the billow ; 

lyand of childhood, fare thee well ! 



DAY DREAMS. 33 



^ Question. 



Reader, have you ever made 
Any measure of the tears, 

Ever reckoned up the dead 
Of one hundred years? — 

Ever for a moment thought, 

Ever held your breath. 
Counting up the myriads brought 

To the gates of death ? 

Three times all the sons of men 

lyive and pass away ; 
Thrice in ninety years and ten 

All the human race are clay ; 

Fallen like the swaths of corn, 

Changed to dust each living face : 

Who shall name the host unborn 
That must come to fill their place? 

Think, one hundred years to-day — 
Oh ! thoughtless sons of mirth ! — 

Not one living son of clay 
Will be on this earth. 

Every man and every maid, 

Wrinkled age and youthful bloom, 
lyike the forest leaves, are laid 

In one universal tomb. 



34 DAYDREAMS. 

Onward moves the ebb and flow, 
Ever was, and still shall be ; 

Generations come and go 

Like the billows of the sea. 

Billions, countless as the sand 
On the ocean-beaten shore, 

Coming from the silent land, 
Follow those that went before. 

Perish creeds of ancient pages ; 

Who will rend the prison bars ? 
Light the sons of coming ages 

With an echo from the stars? 

Not a whisper hath been given 
Tangible for human needs, 

Buried all the light of heaven 

'Neath the dust of human creeds. 

Would the Author of creation 

Make our shrouded visions clear, 

With an .honest demonstration 
That our reason could revere ; 

Then each heart might be an altar, 
Thrilling with the trumpet blast ; 

Then our footsteps might not falter 
In the moonlights of the past. 



DAY DREAMS. 35 

Then the future might restore us 
Brotherhood, for human strife, 

And the pathway stretch before us 
Onward to the gates of life. 

Then the tomb might lose its sorrow, 

As the shadows pass away ; 
Death, the twilight of to-morrow. 

Breaking in eternal day. 

Stretch the pathway on before us, 

Haste the ages yet to be. 
When one universal chorus 

Rings the song of Galilee ! 



]^ORQET JhEE. 

Forget thee ? Yes, when seas run dry 
And the living sun shall die ; 
When the waves shall break no more 
On the ocean-beaten shore ; 
When the stars shall lose their light, 
And no moon shall cheer the night ; 
When the songs of life are still ; 
Dead, the fountain and the rill ; 
Dead, the forest and the vales ; 
Dead, the green-robed, summer dales ; 
Withered, every bud and flower ; 
Stilled, the tempest and the shower ; 
Nothing left of earth or sea — 
Then I have forgotten thee. 



36 DAY DREAMS. 



pROFIT yVJSfD Ja0^3. 

If your purpose in life be pelf, 
Then 'midst its strife, 
I^et your motto in life 
Be— self; 

Or in other words, I say, 

Boy or man, 
Be your calling what it may, 
Remember, night and day. 

First, Number One ! 

And in dealing with another, 
I^et every transaction, 

Although it be your brother, 

Or even your mother, 

Bring you a fraction ! 

And always remember 

That, selling or buying, 
In June or December, 
Borrow or lender. 

There's money in lying ! 

And keep it in view, 

As a text from the school. 
That in dealing with you. 
The profits of two 

Is ever your rule ! 



DAY DREAMS. 37 



And at kirk or fair 

Still the motto maintain, 
Fasting or prayer, 
Remember it there, 

A purpose to gain ; 

And never neglect, 

Be it partial or whole, 
To temper your spec 
So it stiffens your neck 

And narrows your soul ! 

And when they have weighed 
Your profit and loss, 

And your balance is laid 

In the vaults of the dead, 
With a cross, 

Let the writing be clear. 

That mouldering here 
Is the dross ! 



^ ^EJVIORY. 

Over New England hills. 

Over valley and lea. 
Up from the brooks and the rills 

Fond echoes are calling to me 



38 DAY DREAMS. 

Out from the brakes and the bowers, 

Over the summer-robed dells, 
Out through the long summer hours, 

I hear the low village bells. 

Oh ! soul of memorial days ! 

Oh ! song of the bluebird and bee ! 
Like a dream in the summer blue haze 

The cottage of Mary I see ; 

Still see the white garden wall, 

And the porch where the jessamine blows. 
And the roof that o'ershadows them all, 

With its smoke as it heavenward goes. 

I stand by the old apple tree, 

I wait as I waited of yore. 
And I listen, dear Mary, for thee, 

For the feet that are coming no more. 

There is life in the leafless woods. 

Where the death shroud of winter hath lain ; 
There is life in the deep solitudes. 

That comes with the summer again. 

But the flowers that I cherished are dead, 
And the dreams that were never to be, 

Like the leaves of the forest, are laid 
In the dust, forever, with thee. 



DAY DREAMS. 39 



I jCen ^E ]4oo3e. 

I ken a hoose, ae story high, 

That stands among the hills, 
It has nae shelter but the sky, 

Nae music but the rills. 

Nor spreading porch, nor trellis bars, 

To hide its wa's sae bare, 
Whaur it has stood beneath the stars 

A hundred years or mair. 

The summers go, the winters come, 
Wi' rain, and drift, and snaw. 

And shakes the dockens round the lum, 
Abune its thack of straw. 

Its sturd}^ door is bleached and gray, 
Whaur mony a storm has beat. 

And its auld hallant floor of clay 
Is worn wi' weary feet. 

And through its winnocks bent and thrawn, 

Atween its auld gray stanes. 
Has come the licht o' mony a dawn, 

In through its wrinkled panes. 

And round its broken auld hearthstane, 

Noo green wi' grass and sod, 
Auld heads hae bent (lang dead and gane) 

To praise their father's God. 



40 DA Y DREAMS. 

And grander than the micht of kings, 

In that wee but-and-ben, 
Guid trusty mithers raised their weans, 

Wha died ^uid honest men. 



And mony a head has gaen to rust, 
With neither slab nor urn, 

Could trace its record frae the dust 
That sleeps on Bannockburn. 

The king may get his ain again 

In that guid time to be, 
But he'll be king wha has the brain, 

When RIGHT is chivalry. 



It's no' the palace or the ha' 

That's gi'en the world its men ; 

The grandest chields the world e'er saw 
First toddled but-and-ben. 



And roofless kirks, whaur martyrs lie, 
Though storms gae whistling through, 

Hae sealed a record in the sky 
Cathedrals never knew. 



And though the richt may yield to micht, 
When there seems nae appeal. 

The soul of things will aye be richt 
In spite of Pope or deil. 



DA Y DREAMS. 

And though some doubters bay the moon, 
While creeds and reason jars, 

The plumb of God hangs even doon. 
Eternal as the stars. 

It's been weel said, that beauty bides 

Nae deeper than the skin. 
That mony a scarlet mantle hides 

The fires of hell within. 

There's mony a wretch wha owns a mine 

Gaes crawling to his grave. 
Who, measured by the rule divine. 

Is viler than a slave. 

And some are clothed in raiment white 

Wha fill the bigot's roll, 
Wad rob the widow of her mite 

Or sell his brither's soul! 

It's no' this age of braggarts vain, 

Of demagogues and sham. 
Will raise earth to a higher plane 

Or bring the promised man. 

It's no' the sneaking, crawling saint. 
Whose stock in trade is hell, 

Wha think, when groping brithers faint. 
The only licht's himsel'. 



41 



42 DAY DREAMS. 

Nor is it pith o' learning rare, 
Nor tomes in college hall ; 

The honest widow's humble prayer 
Is grander than them all! 

It's no' the self-conceited crank, 
That microbe of the devil. 

Whose skull is but an empty tank, 
Half stuffed wi' dirt and drivel. 

His daily food newspaper slang, 
The gossips of the gutter. 

His dream that naething can be wrang 
That scribbling demons utter. 

God help us ere the deluge comes 

Frae Satan's latest hoax, 
That epidemic of the slums, 

The reeking ballot-box ! , 

And save the nations ear' and late 
From vile pollution's pool. 

And keep us from the Carron State, 
Where brazen blacksruards rule. 



DAY DREAMS. 43 



I JaOVE THE JoAJMD OF f LOUDY ^KIE^. 

I love the land of cloudy skies, 
Of mountain, vale and lea. 

Whose ocean-beaten wall defies 
The thunders of the sea. 

I love the shades where lovers meet, 
When gloaming hours are long, 

And where the rustic bowers repeat 
The blackbird's evening song. 

I love the land of purple hills, 
Whose rugged cliffs are free. 

And silent glens, where mountain rills 
Steal onward to the sea. 

I love the land whaur Unties sang 
Frae New Year's day till Yule, 

And whaur the wimpling burnies ran, 
Whaur I went to the schule. 

I love the land whose auld kirk bells 
Peal forth the Sabbath morn. 

And thrills the peaceful village dells, 
Where freedom's sons were born. 

I^et others sing of green-robed vales, 

Kissed by the tropic sea, 
Wi' myrtle groves, and spicy gales, 

Auld Scotland yet for me ! 



44 DAY DREAMS. 



^/i^T AND ^F^E^EjMT. 



PART I. 



A silent isle lay in the sea — 
A gem from Nature's God — 

And on its sands the waves broke free, 
Where never foot had trod. 

No home of beast or bird was there, 
On that lone speck of green, 

Nor sound to thrill the silent air 
Where never life had been. 

The passing ages rolled away, 
The surf broke o'er its bars ; 

But still the lonely islet lay 

'Neath sun, and moon, and stars. 

No passing wing, no sail or speck, 
As Time's slow currents ran. 

Nor fragment there of drifting wreck 
Gave evidence of man. 

No gilded pomp of war's array, 

Nor iron bonds of toil, 
As day repeated yesterday 

Upon that silent isle. 



DAY D R EA MS. 45 

No tropic heat or Arctic snow 

Its green-robed valleys knew, 
As o'er its verdure soft and low 

Earth's fairest breezes blew ; 

And o'er its wide surrounding sea 

Ten thousand suns had rolled, 
While passing seasons crowned its lea 

With myriad buds of gold. 

Yet not a home in brake or bower 

Was there to pluck its bloom, 
Or token seen of bud or flower 

Of human life, or tomb ; 

And not a sound of evening bell 

E'er thrilled its sylvan shade, 
As dying ages moaned their knell 

In sea songs of the dead. 



PART II. 



The scene has changed ! Upon that shore 

The foot of man has trod. 
And in its shades are found no more 

The peace of Nature's God. 

Ten thousand sails have crossed its seas, 
Where commerce spreads her wings. 

And on the ocean-wafted breeze 
The iron anvil rings ; 



46 



DAY DREAMS. 

And now no more, in brake or bower, 

The gems of Nature smile, 
Where human greed and tyrant's power 

Has cursed this peaceful isle ; 

And on its meads and valley green 

No God-robed lillies bloom, 
But in the broken shades are seen 

The wrecks of life and tomb ; 

And from the mountains to the sea, 
Where hidden brooklets ran, 

The weeping silent stars can see 
Sad evidence of man ; 

And all around its silver strand, 

Where health-blown billows rolled, 

The eye can trace on every hand 
The lust of power and gold ; 

And vapors foul have curst its clime, 
While o'er its man-owned soil 

Now crowd the haunts of vice and crime, 
Where hopeless millions toil ; 

And reeking marts with clouded breath 

Blot out the morning stars, 
While frowning battlements of death 

lyoom o'er its coral bars ; 

And o'er its vales, from shore to shore, 
The wrecks of life are strown, 

And in its fragrant shades no more 
The soul of peace is known. 



DAY DREAMS. 



«A Y1310N. 

I dreamt of a dead face 

That glowed again with life, 

And radiant with the strife 

Of love's embrace ; 

I saw closed eyes 

Wake from that sleep of death, 

And health and breath 

Blending their dyes 

On that young cheek 

So lately cold, 

While lips unrolled 

Essayed to speak ; 

I saw the light 

Of sense again 

Thrilling the brain, 

As morning wakes from night; 

Or as the star 

That early blends, 

When sunset sends 

Its rays afar, 

And silver bands 

That held love's flowers 

In death's dark hours, 

Bursting from folded hands ; 

And weary feet 

Stirring again 

With life's refrain 

And heart's responsive beat ; 



47 



48 £>AV DREAMS. 

And from the tomb, 

Shaking the robes of death, 

Came, thrilled with life and breath, 

A maiden in her bloom. 

And on her brow 

A crown of gold. 

With this enrolled — 

' ' Immortal now. ' ' 

And earth was thrilled 

With hope's eternal sun ; 

All mortal work was done, 

And life's grand dream fulfilled. 

And from the stars. 

That sunless were no more, 

I heard a host encore 

And thrill the immortal bars 

From shore to shore. 



^^ETTEE^ THAjM <^OLD. 



Oh ! better than gold is a woman's heart. 
And her love than the miser's store ; 
For the tinsel of gold in an hour may depart, 
But the priceless wealth of a true woman's heart 
Is a treasure forever more. 

And better her love than the wreaths of fame, 

For these, too, may decay ; 
But her treasures will cheer in sorrow and pain. 
And the youth of her heart it will ever remain, 

Though her beauty has faded away. 



DAY DREAMS. 



49 



A LEGEND OF THE SCOTTISH SHORE. 

The castle wakes, the pennant shakes 

Above the turrets free, 
And silver clouds, in fleecy flakes, 

Come drifting from the sea. 

The shadow falls along the walls. 

And lights flash on the lea, 
And loud the sweeping sea-bird calls, 

As he drifts o'er the sea. 

The distant cliffs reflect the dawn, 

As white as chalk can be, 
While dewdrops glisten on the lawn 

And health blows from the sea. 

While birds wake in my lady's bower. 

Fair Margaret opes her e'e. 
And from the window of her tower 

She hails the white-capped sea. 

And as she gazed across the mead 

Her heart beat light and free ; 
"I'll mount," she cried, "my snow-white steed, 

And gallop to the sea. 

"Go haste, my page, and tell groom John 

To bring my horse to me ; 
I go this hour to ride alone 

And gallop by the sea." 



50 DAY DREAMS. 

And as she stood arrayed in green, 

With tresses waving free, 
She seemed the model of a queen, 

And fresher than the sea. 

Now comes her steed of spotless white, 

A noble horse is he ; 
She mounted like a gallant knight. 

And turned him to the sea. 

And well she rides through brake and shaw, 

Then thunders o'er the lea ; 
The startled woodmen shout ' ' Hurrah ! ' ' 

As she rides to the sea. 

And while she held the ready reins, 

Her locks all waving free. 
The living blood leaped in her veins 

As she rode to the sea. 



The startled hare breaks from the fen, 
The frightened moorcocks flee. 

And terror hides the water-hen. 
As she rides to the sea. 



And when she turns him on the sands 

A willing horse is he. 
And needs no urging from her hands 

To gallop by the sea. 



DAY DREAMS. 

And swifter than a flash of light 
She passed the headland free ; 

O, stars ! it was a noble sight, 
As she rode by the sea ! 

Now b}^ the base of towering cliff, 
Where sea-washed caverns be. 

And where the weeds of ocean drift 
For ages from the sea ; 

Still onward by the rocky wall, 
A thing of life dashed she, 

And laughed to hear the eagles call 
As she rode by the sea. 

And as she passed each frowning steep 
And made the pebbles flee, 

She seemed a spirit from the deep 
As she rode by the sea. 

But at the outer bounding reef 

A moment still stood she, 
And there her joy was turned to grief 

On gazing at the sea ! 

For from the deep blue waters wide, 
All o'er the rock-bound lea, 

She saw the swift returning tide 
Come thundering from the sea ! 



51 



52 



DAY DREAMS. 

Along the outer reef she rides 
To find some outlet free, 

But only met the rising tides 
That thundered from the sea. 

She turned again along the sands, 
In hope that aid might be 

In passing yet the rocky bands 
That walled her in the sea. 



"Oh, save me now, my noble steed ! 

Oh, save me. Lord !" cried she; 
The willing horse, with lightning speed. 

Dashed onward by the sea. 

His heated breath, like sheets of foam, 
Rolled from his nostrils free, 

And still he dashed like lightning on 
To save her from the sea. 



And though the swift returning tide 
Had reached his struggling knee. 

He still, with nostrils foaming wide, 
Dashed onward through the sea. 

The shrieking gulls, like fiends of death, 
Swept round them with wild glee. 

But still the beating of his breath 
Was heard above the sea. 



DAY DREAMS. 53 

And on and on, with reeking flanks, 
Through seething waves dashed he, 

And fought to reach the distant banks 
And save her from the sea. 

The waters rose above his breast, 

And to his neck clung she, 
Yet through the foaming tide he pressed 

To save her from the sea. 

And though within his bloodshot eyes 

The fires of terror be. 
He struggles onward till he dies. 

To save her froui the sea. 

One dying leap, one dying scream, 

Rings on that rocky lea. 
And where the noble horse was seen 

Is nothing but the sea ! 

Around 3^on tower the seasons speed, 

But none again shall see 
Fair Margaret and her milk-white steed 

That perished in the sea. 

But when the tempest loud and coarse 

Breaks on the rocky lea, 
The mariner sees a spectre horse 

And rider on the sea. 

And often, by the winter hearth, 

Midst children's merry glee, 
Grandfathers tell, with bated breath, 

This legend of the sea. 



54 DAYDREAMS. 



^03E3 ^ROWN. 



'Twas on a fair September day, 

Now twenty years ago, 
'Twas afternoon, I too might say, 

Because the sun was low ; 
And I can this remember still. 

That all that afternoon. 
The arching sky, o'er vale and hill. 

Was clear as rosy June ; 
And there, among the shady dells, 

I roamed at will, alone. 
Where echo caught the village bells, 

With their soft semitone. 
The golden sunset lent its shade. 

No feet was there but mine, 
Nor human call of man nor maid 

In that New England clime ; 
Here waving fields of golden maze, 

There meads of emerald green, 
And through the distant autumn haze 

The village spire was seen. 
There once the beaver reared her young, 

Where now rich harvests grow, 
And there the red-skinned savage flung 

His war spear long ago ; 
And winding roads o'er vale and lee. 

Traversed by brooks and rills. 
Whose rugged ramparts seemed to be 

Coeval with the hills ; 



DAV DREA MS. 55 

And fence and rail and rustic stile 

Mapped out the rock-ribbed dells 
Where drowsy cattle lounged awhile, 

And ^hook their twinkling bells ; 
And there, down in a tangled waste, 

Where cedars yet may wave, 
I paused in wonder, as I traced 

The outlines of a grave — 
So bare, so bleak, from tracings free, 

That careless feet might pass 
A thousand times, yet never see 

That shadow on the grass ; 
No crumbled wall, no sculpture old. 

No record left to show. 
But one rude stone, whose letters told 

The sleeper's name below ; 
But of his birth, or of his time, 

In hamlet, street or town, 
I only found this mouldering line, 

' ' Here rests old Moses Brown . ' ' 



Oh, that my soul could fly 

On the wings of a summer cloud, 

Where no shadows shall ever enshroud 
The depths of the boundless sky ! 
Oh, to float away 

Beyond the sunset bars, 

To the home of the nameless stars. 
And the light of eternal day ! 



56 



DAY DREAMS. 



Jhe ^cotti^h Shepherd. 

The shepherd sits upon the grass, 

His flocks are on the hill ; 
The seasons come, the seasons pass, 

Bat he is yonder still. 
He has no thought of coming care, 

Has nought to gain or lose ; 
He puts no varnish on his hair, 

Nor polish on his shoes. 
He rises daily with the sun. 

Drinks at the fountain's rim ; 
The passing seasons, as they run. 

Bring nothing new for him. 
His kingdom is the mountain side. 

O'er paths his flocks have worn. 
He looks across the landscape wide 

To scenes where he was born. 
The end and purpose of his day, 

That purpose he fulfils ; 
The songs of Nature are his praise. 

His temples are the hills. 
The war of race, the hate of creeds. 

He seeks not to explore ; 
He gets the little that he needs — 

The mighty get no more. 
Who would not live the shepherd's life. 

And tread the paths he trod. 
To live removed from human strife, 

Alone with Nature's God ? 



DAY DREAMS. 57 

" ^jMLY A j::;hild." 

" Only a child," 

I heard him say, 
Then the speaker smiled 
And moved away. 
"Only a child," said the thoughtless throng, 
But I musing thought, as I went along : 

Only a little cheek 

Faded and chill, 
Only two little feet 

Forever still ; 
Only another grave 

Beneath those trees, 
Where the grasses wave 

In the Autumn breeze. 

Only two little eyes 

Folded in sleep. 
Never to rise 

And never to weep ; 
Only a little dust 

To the great store. 
Where the myriads rust 

For evermore. 

Only a little head. 

Pillowed so low 
With the nameless dead, 

Where we all must go ; 
Only a voice hushed 

In its little song. 
And a mother crushed 

Through her lifelong. 



58 DAY DREAMS. 



JalVE THE I^EPUBLIC ! 

lyive the Republic ! Let the words go forth 

From rocky Andes to the distant sea, 
Peal through the forests of the starry North 

In thunder tones, the nation shall be free ! 
Live the Republic ! Let the anthem ring 

From freedom's lips along the surf-beat shore ; 
Live the Republic ! Let the nations sing 

Among the Isles, while continents encore. 

Live the Republic ! Let the words ascend 

From mother's lips who teach the children's prayer; 
Live the Republic ! Let the watchman send 

It from the ramparts on the midnight air ; 
Live the Republic ! Let the thunder peal it 

Out from the battlements at early morn ; 
Live the Republic ! Let the d^dng seal it, 

A living legacy to hosts unborn. 

Live the Republic ! This the battle cry 

From freedom's host that charge the tyrant foe ; 
Live the Republic ! This the latest sigh 

From martyr heroes heavenward as the}^ go ; 
Live the Republic ! Let the words be sung 

Around the capstan on the iron deck ; 
Live the Republic ! Peals the evening gun 

On distant shores, where tyrant thrones may shake ; 
Live the Republic ! Columbia's sons, awake ! 



BAY DREAMS. 59 



|n ^EMOF^Y of JOHJM l^EID. 

And thou art dead, my friend — 
Passed like a breath away ; 
While we are left to say, 

Is this the end ? 

And thou art still, great heart ! 

To friendship ever leal ; 

While we in sorrow feel 
Thou hast the better part. 

Those lips are silent now ! 

Thy life-long deeds remain 
With neither blush nor stain 

Upon thy brow. 

And hearts that loved thee well 
Bow 'round thy silent bier. 
To drop a parting tear, 

With one long, sad farewell. 

No more beneath the sun. 
In busy mart or street. 
We hear thy tireless feet ; 

Thy race is run. 

Had early fate but willed, 

Where feebler tongues debate 
In lofty halls of state, 

Thou mightst have thrilled ! 



6o DAY DREAMS. 

Or worn the ermine crown, 
Where sculptured bronze, 
With lettered scroll, enthrones 

Deathless renown. 

But faultless Nature drew, 

With happier mold, 

Thy heart of gold, 
To honor ever true. 

Oh, fleeting breath, 

Brief as the taper light, 
Quenched in the starless night, 

Of unrelenting death ! 

True friend in need, 

Thy crown is won, 

Thy race is run. 
Beloved, lamented Rkid ! 



JhE ]4uNqF^Y pOLITICIAjM. 

I often in my anger rave, 

To find some definition 
To demonstrate that truckling knave, 

The hungry politician ; 

And wonder by what devilish plan 
Old Nature's law maintains 

A wretch to best his fellow-man, 
By passing brass for brains. 



DAY DREAMS. 6l 

The nauseous role of pampered kings 
Breeds many a loathsome flunkey ; 

But from this age of cliques and rings 
Has sprung this leprous donkey ! 

Can you propound, O reverend priest, 

When Noah first frequented 
His ancient boat with bird and beast, 

Was this wretch represented ? 

And tell me, ye, who underground 
Hath toiled with hand unwearied. 

If e'er his brainless skull was found 
In the Silurian period ? 

And let the student pause and think 

While I propound the query — 
If this is not the long-sought link — 

That proves the Darwin theory ? 

For certain he is part the snake — 

To honor's law a traitor, 
With all the cunning of the ape, 

And greed of the alligator. 

From withering curse of ancient creeds 

Let learning's light repent us, 
But this foul curse of Satan's needs 

Man's second fall hath sent us. 



62 DAY DREAMS. 

In ruined halls of perished thrones 
The hungry wolf is prowling, 

And o'er their crumbling towers and domes 
The gusts of time are howling. 

But sadder yet the tempe.st rolls 
Down this proud age of culture, 

When on the wreck of human souls 
There feeds this lecherous vulture ! 

Oh ! silent mounds of martyr's dust, 

That died to save a nation, 
Your tombs must sink, when virtues rust 

In utter desolation ! 



With transient dreams of power and gold 
The demagogue may nurse us, 

But for our birthright, cheaply sold, 
The babe unborn shall curse us ! 



And Liberty herself may weep, 

While foreign knaves may scoff us, 

To see men on their bellies creep 
To lick the slime of of&ce ! 



There's many a knave since Adam fell 

Has gone to black perdition. 
But the meanest wretch in the vaults of hell 
Is the hungry politician ! 



DAYDREAMS. 63 



Only a mite given in honest love, 
By humble hands, rugged and rough with toil, 

Only a bite, seen from the stars above, 
May make a weary watching angel smile. 

Only a school boy's dream, 
Wending his pathway to the village school. 

May be a vision of the great unseen, 
In mimic navies on the wayside pool. 

Only the sunlight, in a widow's home. 
Falling upon the hearth where God is praised. 

May grander be than gleam of gilded dome, 
Sparkling afar, that tyrant's power has raised. 

Only the humble head 
Of some toil martyr in the roadway slime, 

May be with grander, nobler crown arrayed, 
Than princely diadem, won through blood and crime. 

Only a midnight thought 
Born in sorrow in the attic drear. 

May be the soul of battles yet unfought. 
To change the commerce of a hemisphere. 

Only a mother's prayer 
O'er her first born, when fades the closing day, 

Ma3^ crown a harvest yet, more rich, more rare 
Than all the impassioned creeds of wild Cathay. 



64 DAY DREAMS. 



^/hen Jajviie ^eet3 wi' flE. 

The mavis sings his gloaming sang, 
The kye come owre the lea, 

And shadows frae the hills grow lang 
When Jamie meets wi' me. 

The drowsy blossoms scent the air 
Frae brier and hawthorn tree, 

And a' the sweets o' heaven are there 
When Jamie meets wi' me. 

There's silence in the coverts deep, 

The cushie shuts her e'e, 
And weary Unties gang to sleep 

When Jamie meets wi' me. 

Let gowks sing o' their summer bowers 

Beyond the tropic sea, 
Gie me auld Scotland's gloaming hours 

When Jamie meets wi' me. 

And let wee lairdies hae the bliss 
That land and bawbees gie — 

It's naething to oor honest kiss 
When Jamie meets wi' me. 

There's folk wha like the clank o' bells- 

We're different as can be ; 
For I'll hae naebody but oorsels 

When Jamie meets wi' me. 



BAY I) J? £ A MS. 65 



yV JaEQEND OF Ho^L^r^ f A^TLE. 

■ I will tell you a tale," said the hoary sire, 

As he sat in the fading light, 
And we hung around the blazing fire 

On that merry Christmas night ; 
While above the eaves the wind did blow 
The drifting flakes of the virgin snow. 

So the lamps were lit in the ancient hall, 

And the logs piled on anew 
In the wide old hearth, where we gathered all 

To hear his story through ; 
Then with a sigh the good old man 
This tale of Roslin Tower began : — 

'Tis forty years now past and gone, 

I think, next Whitsuntide, 
Or thereabout, since brother John 

Brought home his Yankee bride ; 
And the guns were fired and the bells were tolled 
As up the lawn the carriage rolled. 

And there was music in the bowers. 
That pealed from tower and dome. 

And porch and pillar hung with fiowers, 
To bid them welcome home ; 

But though the scene was fair to see, 

The fairest flower of all was she. 



66 DAY DREAMS. 

" And merr}^ rang the village bells 
From spire and turret gray, 
And like a harvest anthem swells 

To hail that marriage day ; 
And well the yeomen did encore 
When she stepped from the carriage door. 

" And I recall it like a dream, 
When she stood in the hall. 
And looked the model of a queen, 

The wonder of us all ; 
And how my mother kissed her there. 
And led her to the ancient chair. 

" And then was brought the vintage clear, 
While ancient corks were drawn. 
To quaff ' Our Daughter ! ' with a cheer 

That echoed on the lawn ; 
But when the loving cup she pressed, 
The tears were falling on her breast. 

" Then spoke our sire, like knight of old. 
And touched his ancient crest : 
' We bid thee welcome to our fold, 

Fair daughter of the West ; 
And though from distant lands unknown, 
Thy kith and kindred are our own.' 



DAYDREAMS. 67 

" And in the tresses of her hair 

He placed two heather bells : 
' Long may you breathe our native air 

And love our rugged dells ; 
For though our isle hath lesser claim, 
Our native eagles are the same.' 

" And there was mirth 'neath groin and arch, 
With song and dance and glee ; 
And how my father tripped the march 

Was something good to see ! 
While ancient warriors on the wall 
Lent stately grandeur to it all. 

" And thus flew past their bridal hour, 

Like some brief summer tide, 
As fleets the bee from flower to flower, 

My brother and his bride, 
With not a shadow on their skies 
To dull their mirth or dim their eyes. 

" Through bower and brake, through coverts long, 
No thought their love to sever, 
Where linnets sang their bridal song. 

Forever and forever ; 
While at the board or on the hearth 
Her laugh was loudest in our mirth. 



68 DAY DREAMS. 

" But why recall those perished days 

That cannot come again, 
But fleet across life's fading- haze 

Like phantoms of my brain ? 
Those songs are hushed, those hearts are still, 
And groin and arch are cold and chill. 

" For death was in the coming hour, 

When we resolved one day 
To see fair Roslin's ruined tower, 

That stood some leagues away ; 
But better for our house, I ween, 
That Roslin Tower had never been. 

' ' The morn is fair ; each harnessed steed 

Seems eager for the fray ; 
No merrier group e'er crossed the Tweed 

Than we went forth that day — 
John and his bride, our cousins tall. 
Myself and father — six in all. 

" The breath of life is on the breeze, 

As from the heath it blows. 
And over all such aerial seas 

As only Scotland knows ; 
While red-tiled hamlets lent their sheen 
To break the dark, deep Autumn green. 



DAY DREAMS. 69 

' And on we speed, mile after mile, 

By ancient field and flood, 
Where every rood of freedom's soil 

Was bought with Scotland's blood, 
And where her glens, from sea to sea. 
Still ring the anthems of the free ! 

' By broken cliff, by moss and stone. 

Where night's first shadows fall. 
And silver Bsk goes rippling on 

Beneath the castle wall. 
From hill and muir, through brake and fen, 
Down song-loved Scotia's noblest glen. 

' We rest our steeds at hamlet low. 

By Roslin's red-tiled inn. 
And down the ringing groves we go 

To reach the castle grim ; 
Through ancient forest's hawthorn glades. 
Where once rode forth proud cavalcades. 

' Down where the deep-pooled waters flow 

Beneath the rock-ribbed bands. 
Like ruined tomb of long ago, 

The roofless castle stands, 
And casts its shadows long and deep 
From turret wall and donjon keep. 



70 DAYDREAMS. 

" We enter through the portal walls 
With merry marriage glee, 
And linger in the ruined halls 

Where wassail used to be, 
And from the fallen stair we scan 
The ruined tower and bartizan ; 

" And gaze out from the casement rude 
Where once, with curtains drawn, 
The love-lorn hooded maiden stood 

To watch the coming dawn, 
Or listened, in those days of yore, 
To midnight lute of troubadour. 

" And now the ready lunch is spread 
Around the moss-grown hearth, 
Where oft the booted warrior led 
The ancient Christmas mirth. 
And where that whispered tale was told 
That still is new, though time grows old. 

" ' Come seek and find me ! ' cries the bride, 
When our brief feast is o'er, 
And from the hall we see her glide 

To pass the low-arched door, 
And down the steps that lead below 
We hear her footsteps fainter grow. 



. DA V DREAMS. 71 

" My brother stands one moment there, 

Our cousins laugh aside, 
And, passing down the turret stair, 

He runs to find his bride ; 
But hidden bride he seeks in vain — 
That bride was never found again ! 

" We follow, where the arch is low, 

To search the dungeons wide. 
And list the echoes as they go, 

To find the hidden bride ; 
But search in vain ; 'neath arch and mound 
All echoes die — no bride is found ! 

■* My father stares, our cousins weep, 

My brother rends his hair. 
And rushes through the donjon keep 

In hope to find her there ; 
But not a speck 'neath arch or stone 
He found, to tell where she had gone ! 

' We linger through that fatal day 

Till shadows grow opaque. 
And tear my brother John away, 

A raving maniac ; 
And when we pass the portal's gloom 
We know that portal is her tomb ! 



72 BAY DREAMS. 

" One hundred days they watched that pile 

From early dawn till late, 
But not an echo crowned their toil 

To tell them of her fate ; 
But often from those dungeons barred 
A midnight wail of woe was heard ; 

" Till twenty years had rung the knell 

Of seasons passing round, 
When far below the captive's cell 

A skeleton was found, 
Where by some ancient tyrant's snare 
She was entombed, and perished there ! ' ' 

The old man ceased, the fire was low, 
Each speaker held his breath, 

And save the drifting of the snow, 
The hall was still as death ; 

But often since, at twilight's hour. 

We tell the tale of Roslin Tower. 



^H ! JaET flE l\0AjVl! 

Oh ! let me roam the mountains high. 

Where the winds of freedom blow, 
Above my head the arching sky. 

And the misty glens below ! 
Oh ! let me wing my flight away 

To the golden gates afar, 
To chant the hymn of the new-born day, 

Beneath the morning star ! 



DAY DREAMS. 73 



^ARY. 



I see ae star hangs in the lift — 

The only star that decks the cary — 

It's waiting on this munelicht nicht 
To licht me owre the hills to Mary. 

Dark is the muir, the road is lang, 

And howlets scream frae yon auld tower, 

But there's for me a Untie' s sang 
Aye ringing in yon cottage bower. 

And though the clouds be black wi' snaw, 
And winds come howling frae the sea, 

Let howlets scream or tempest blaw, 
The}^ canna keep my heart frae thee. 

The weary flocks hae gane to rest. 
And mirk and dreary is the lea, 

But there's nae winter in the breast 
That's waiting in yon cot for me. 

And though nae stars may cheer the nicht, 
Nor beacons flash frae cot or ha', 

There's aye for me a loving licht 

In Mary's een, that dings them a'. 

Let pampered princes deck their bowers 
Wi' treasures rare of earth and sea, 

Nae monarch's gowd can steal the flowers 
That Mary's heart aye holds for me. 



74 DAY DREAMS. 



¥fHEN ^AJ^DY {JaED ^^W/^'. 

Gae, man, and bring yer fiddle doon, 

And gie yer strings a thraw, 
For we maun hae anither tune 

Bre Sandy gangs awa'. 

For there's mysel' and Jock McNeil, 

Wi' anither ane or twa, 
Are gaun to hae anither reel 

Bre Sandy gangs awa'. 

Tam Scott will dance the Hielan' Fling 
Wi' Ross and Duncan Shaw — 

We're gaun to mak' the rafters ring 
When Sandy gaes awa' ! 

Sae get yer fiddle tuned again, 

McTosh will gie's a blaw ; 
Guid faith ! we'll let the neebor's ken 

That Sandy's gaun awa' ! 

We'll get auld I^uckie Tamson's byre — 

The kirk wad be owre sma' ; 
Guidsakes ! they'll think the Tweed's on fire 

When Sandy gangs awa' ! 

And sae they met, ae Friday nicht, 

Wi' lots o' usquebae, 
And I can tell ye 'twas a sicht. 

When Sandy gaed awa' ! 



DA V DREAMS. 75 

For miles aroun' their cronies cam', 

To drink and dance and jaw ; 
Ye needna think it was a sham, 

When Sandy gaed awa' ! 

Dumbarton Kate and comely Jean, 

And Betty frae the Shaw — 
lyOrd ! sic a nicht was never seen 

Since Sandy gaed awa' ! 



And how the}^ danced and how they sang 

The like I never saw ; — 
The very hills aroun' us rang 

When Sand}^ gaed awa' ! 

Wi' countr}^ dance, strathspey and reel. 
As fast's the bow could draw — 

I'm sure it wad hae scared the deil, 
When Sandy gaed awa' ! 

The drouthy souter left his awl. 
The blacksmith ceased to blaw, 

And tailor Robie led the ball, 
When Sandy gaed awa'. 

Auld grannies frae the Scouring-burn, 

Young hizzies frae Bug-ha', 
And e'en the Dom'nie took a turn 

When Sandy gaed awa'. 



76 DAY DREAMS. 

The mune gaed doon, the morning came — 

They didna care a straw, 
But drank and capered on the same, 

When Sandy gaed awa'. 

The mid-day sun had reached its hicht — 

It grew to half-past twa — 
But still they danced wi' candle licht, 

Till Sandy gaed awa'. 

Not till the usquebae was dune. 

They yield to Nature's law ; 
They danced the soles maist aff their shoon, 

When Sandy gaed awa' ! 

There's no' a living soul that nicht 
Had strength to lift his paw ; 

Lordsake ! it was an awfu' sicht, 
When Sandy gaed awa' ! 

My story's dune ; the dance is o'er : 

That dance of forty-twa 
Has ne'er its like in Scottish lore 

Since Sandy gaed awa'. 



DAY DREAMS. 77 



J.ET flE Pie 



I<et me die 
When the days are long, 
And mirth and song 

Flood earth and sky ; 
The hour be, when the day is done, 
And shadows hide the setting sun. 

I^et brake and bower, 
From hill and dale, 
With gladness hail 

My dying hour ; 
The sound to waft my latest sigh 
Be Mother Nature's lullaby ; 

No tears be shed, 
Nor priests be there. 
With meanless prayer. 

To mock my bed. 
Nor creed to thrill my latest breath 
With dread of doom, or fear of death ; 

But let me go, 
As the freed eagle flies 
Upward to purer skies 

From earth below ; 
Or like the bird, when summer fades, 
Who wings his flight for tropic glades. 

By brook or river 
L<ay me to rest 
On Nature's breast. 

At peace forever ! 
No lettered scroll nor bust be seen, 
To tell that I had ever been. 



78 DAYDREAMS. 



JhE ]4y\jV[E WHEP\E I Wy\^ ^OF^JM. 

Oh for an hour in yon wee bower 

That lay ayont the corn, 
Or a keek again, through the window pane, 

Of the hame where I was born ! 

Oh for a glint of the auld gray hills. 

That rang with the harvest horn, 
And a touch of the hand that woke me there, 

In the hame where I was born ! 

Oh for a nicht wi' the auld lamp licht. 

Or an hour of the simmer morn, 
To hear the breeze amang the trees. 

Around where I was born ! 

Oh for the mirth of the auld stane hearth, 
When the harvest rigs were shorn, 

And the guid auld sang, when the rafters rang, 
In the hame where I was born ! 

Oh for a note frae the lintie's throat, 

That sang in the auld hawthorn, 
Or the robin's trill on the window sill. 

Of the hame where I was born ! 

Oh the memories there of the hamely prayer, 

That no scoffer dared to scorn ! 
But the voice has gane frae the auld hearthstane, 

In the hame where I was born ! 



DAY DREAMS. 79 



I J.IKE A 1\aIJN-Y P^Y. 

I like a rainy day 

Now and then ; 
I love the solemn gray, 
As my day dreams drift away 

With the rain. 

Especially if I'm snug 

In the warm ingle nook, 
With my feet upon the rug, 
And with glass and water mug 

And a book. 

You think it an illusion 

Or a dream, 
When the absence of confusion. 
And the sense of non-intrusion, 

Are supreme. 

But I like to see again, 

In the glow. 
Strange fancies crowd my brain, 
While they whisper, in the rain, 

Of long ago. 

Perhaps it is the song 

Of a brother. 
Or the lover's passion strong, 
Or the lullaby's prolong 

Of my mother. 



8o DAY D J? BAMS. 

Or the music of the bees, 

And the joy, 
When summer robed the trees, 
And I reveled in the breeze, 

As a boy ; 

Or the days when romp and play 

Was the rule. 
And the task was laid away. 
On that weekly holiday 

Of the school. 

Oh ! the glorious escapades 

Of the hills ! 
Oh ! the memory of the shades 
Of the valleys and the glades, 

And the rills ! 

Oh ! I like a rainy day 

Now and then, 
When the solemn earth is gray, 
And the tempest beats its lay 

On the pane ! 



DA Y DREAMS. 8l 

]pE^^iE'3 'Poplin Jre^^. 
A child's story. 

This is a little story with a moral, 

A simple tale, 
Making no pretensions to the floral, 
But unadorned by gild or coral, 

It lifts the vail 
To point a picture — being nothing less 
Than a simple story of a poplin dress 

Worn by a girl at a festival. 
Whose name was "Little Bess." 

There is a certain church — I need not name it, 

Nor mention where it stands — 
And though it has no tower (you need not blame it) 
Nor noisy bell there to proclaim it. 

Nor wall with brownstone bands ; 
Yet who can tell, but when its hearts adore, 
To praise that God who reigns for evermore. 

Those lifted hands 
May be acceptable as when kings implore ? 

Now it was near the middle of sweet June, 

In the strawberry season. 
That green-robed month when Nature is in bloom, 
And all the air is rich with sweet perfume, 

And when all sneezing 
Had been forgotten with the winter's ice, 
Upon the Sabbath it was mentioned twice, 

To hold a festival so pleasing. 
By Pastor Price. 



82 DAY DREAMS. 

No doubt but all had been arranged before, 

And he, the pastor, 
Only told the people — nothing more ; 
Because the elders had laid in a store 

Of strawberries and cream (and one castor), 
While Brother Smillie had been several days 
Busy with Brother Jeffer}^ who says 

That the grand master 
Of the whole concern was Brother Hays. 



Well, well, it may be ; all I know is this, 

That a certain little girl 
Resolved, upon that night, to make a show 
With a white poplin dress, and wear it low, 

And then to twirl 
A blue silk sash about her waist, 
And fix her hair up with the greatest taste, 

And have one golden curl, 
Resplendent with oil and paste. 



So on that night, when Bessie went to bed. 

She lay still scheming 
An hour, resolving in her little head 
How she would trim the flounce with lace and braid, 

But never dreaming 
That she would dream, when once she fell asleep, 
Of having gone out, with her shoeless feet, 

And wake up screaming, 
Thinking she was naked on the street ! 



BAY DREAMS. 83 

So Bessie woke, and had her little cry — 

So like her sex ! — 
She heard her brother snoring nigh, 
Then thought upon her dream, which made her sigh. 

'Tis strange how a dream connects 
The real with the unreal, for even our clothes 
Will jar us much, as every lady knows 

How we can vex 
Our hearts about a ruffle, worse than all our foes. 



And my wee Bess was only a wee woman, 

A child of Mother Kve ; 
She was all life and hope, her cheeks were blooming, 
And she resolved to wear the dress, presuming 

Its cut would grieve 
Her fellow-scholars when she showed it there — 
Not but that she loved them, pair by pair, 

But, by your leave, 
'Tis like us all, although the ladies stare. 



So on that night, when all the folk assembled 

And filled each pew, 
Poor Bessie, in her frills, resembled 
A little Cupid ; but her poor heart trembled, 

Because she knew 
Another little girl sat yonder mocking 
At what she called her airs, and oh ! most shocking 

Whether false or true, 
Whispered that Bessie wore a colored stocking ! 



84 BAY DREAMS. 

And Mary Prattle, in the other seat, 

Also commented 
Upon poor Bessie's "clumsy feet." 
Meanwhile, another little envious cheat 

A fib invented, 
By whispering to their listening brothers 
That it was " a faded thing " made from her mother's, 

And represented 
That it was moth-eaten, while the lauo:h she smothers. 



Now Bessie, though she heard not, knew all this, 

Because the heart 
By instinct knows that oftentimes a hiss 
Is hidden 'neath a sneer, while envy's kiss 

Assumes the better part ; 
And though she blushed and smiled, 
And almost her own heart beguiled, 

Yet envy's dart 
Wounded the simple child. 



But still she hoped to have her hour of pleasure, 

And vainly toiled 
To linger in the aisles with well-feigned leisure. 
While her poor mother thought her quite a treasure 

And proudly smiled, 
As mothers will — 'tis natural to all 
Good mothers : since our first mother's fall 

They have beguiled 
Their weary hearts to hide dark sorrow's pall. 



DA V DREAMS. 85 

But with the rest : The fleeting evening past 

On like a dream, 
Making the most of all, until, at last, 
A crowning horror o'er the scene was cast. 

For, with a scream, 
All eyes were turned on little Bess, 
For, in the middle of the strawberry mess, 

A plate of cream 
By a rude boy was emptied on her dress ! 



So Bessie wept, as the sad heart can weep 

When pleasure fades ; 
For even the mighty, when the wreck complete 
Of ruined empires sink beneath their feet, 

Must bow their heads ; 
For kings have wept to feel the advancing stroke 
Of freedom's thunder, when their power was broke, 

And tyrant's too, when might's illusion fades : 
'Tis but the moral of poor Bessie's frock. 



So Bessie left the little church in tears, 

Hating her dress ; 
And often she has told, in after years, 
(Herself a mother,) to her listening dears, 

And would impress 
Upon their hearts this lesson of her life, 
Which taught herself the worth of joy and strife. 

And though my moral may grow less and less, 

It made the woman, from the wounded Bess, 
A true and faithful wife. 



86 DA V DREAMS. 

So here, at last, my simple story ends : 

And may it teach 
An early lesson to my little friends — 
That striving after only selfish ends, 

Beyond their reach, 
May prove a shadow on ambition's wall 
For castles built on sand too often fall. 

As preachers preach : 
So may it be a lesson to us all. 



^(^AE ^f^IjMQ TO ^E A ]4eATHER ]PeLL. 

Gae bring to me a heather bell, 

Across the deep blue sea, 
A token of my native dell 

Of Scotland, ere I dee. 

Gae bring it frae my native shore, 
From youth's immortal shrine, 

And let it thrill my heart once more 
With dreams of auld lang syne. 

Oh ! bring it frae my native hills, 

Flower of my native sk}^ 
A blossom from the mountain rills 

To bless my latest sigh. 

And when my heart has gaen to rest 
With one fond breathed farewell, 

Then lay it on my silent breast, 
Dear Scotland's heather bell ! 



DAY DREAMS. 87 



^OjMQ op THE pRAIRIE ^yMD 

Oh ! I'm a child of the prairie free, 

And roam its vastness wide ; 
And I love the sweep of its boundless lea, 

And the roll of its grassy tide. 

And I leave my bed when rosy dawn 

Breaks over its disc afar, 
And haste away, on my wild mustang, 

To the home of the morning star. 

And I gild my locks with the morning sun, 

As over its wastes I fly. 
And bathe my limbs where the brooklets run, 

Beneath the boundless sky. 

And I wait my love when the shadows fall, 
As he comes with the rising moon, 

And hear his song in the nightbird's call 
To his mate in the dark lagoon. 

Oh ! my soul is free as the spirit cloud 

That drinks the morning dew, 
And floats away on its ether shroud 

In the depths of the pathless blue. 

Oh ! I'm a child of the prairie wild, 

Where my infant hours began, 
And roam its wastes with heart unsoiled. 

On the breast of my wild mustang ! 



BAY DREAMS. 



^EET f^E WHEI^E THE fSoVERT^ H^NQ- 

Meet me, love, where coverts ring 
With the gladness of the Spring, 
Where the distant echoes fade 
In the stillness of the shade ; 

Meet me where the daisies sweet 
Deck the grasses 'neath our feet. 
And the bending willows glow 
With the crystal brooks below ; 

Where no human sound shall come 
From the distant city's hum, 
Where the leafy groves above 
Shade the temples of our love, 

And the dew-robed flow' ret vies 
With the gladness of your eyes ; 
There, in leafy coverts grand, 
Let us wander hand in hand ; 

Not a thought of fleeting day 
As the moments pass away — 
Days but moments, as they roll. 
Lip to lip and soul to soul ; 

Not a dream of earth or air, 
All the wealth of life is there. 
Others seek, where fashion flows. 
Noisy solace for their woes ; 



DAYDREAMS. 89 

But no crowded mart can be 
What thy raptures bring to me. 
Meet me, love, where coverts ring 
With the gladness of the Spring ; 

Where the song of birds and bee 
Blend sweet summer songs for thee, 
And the ringing groves encore, 
lyove is love for evermore ! 



^Y JaOVE CAJVl' OWF(E THE JaOMOJMD ]4lLL?. 

My love cam' owre the Lomond hills, 
When a' the toon was sleepin', 

And on the lea he met wi' me, 

Whaur nane could see our meetin'. 

The mune and stars that summer nicht 
Their silent watch were keepin', 

But never bliss was like the kiss 
He gave me at our meetin' ! 

The sighing winds cam' frae the lea, 

Fond echoes still repeatin'. 
And hidden brooks sang in the nooks 

To bless our tender meetin'. 

But he is gane, and I'm alane. 

My heart grown sair wi' greetin' ; 

But soon, I ween, kind angels' een 
Will bless our fondest meetin'. 



90 DAY DREAMS. 



JhE ^AID of ^yVLTIJVIOF^E. 

Come, comrades all, your glasses fill, 

And my good toast encore ; 
I give it here with right good-will — 
" The Maid of Baltimore ! " 

Come ring it out from here to Maine, 
Along the surf-beat shore. 

Till echo rolls it back again — 
The Maid of Baltimore ! 

And when the tempest rends our sail, 
Where ocean billows roar. 

We'll send it outward on the gale — 
The Maid of Baltimore ! 

Of ancient dames let poets brag. 
We still thy name encore, 

Fair daughter of the starry flag — 
The Maid of Baltimore ! 

lyCt princes sigh, where beauty reigns 

In ancient Blsinore, 
We toast the child of freedom's veins- 

The Maid of Baltimore ! 

And while our eagle's wings are free, 
O'er freemen's homes to soar, 

We'll drink it still, on land and sea— 
The Maid of Baltimore ! 



DA Y DREAMS. 91 



Jo ^AF(qAr\ET. 



There is an hour, in the eternal past, 

For which my weary soul has often sighed — 
An hour that has outlived life's rudest blast, 

And in my heart of hearts has never died. 
That hour was twilight : on the surf-beat shore, 

Stirred by the ceaseless thunder of the sea, 
I stood upon the sands and heard its roar, 

And my companion on the sands was thee. 

Our hearts were young, our cheeks were round with 
youth ; 

We mused and dreamed of golden hours to come, 
And built our castles on these sands, forsooth, 

Ere life's sad lessons had in truth begun. 
We had no thought of earth, no dream of care ; 

We lived, we loved, we met — and parted, too ; 
The angel Hope was waiting with us there. 

And with us parted in that fond adieu. 

You have forgotten that long-perished hour ; 

Its brief existence faded from thj^ brain ; 
But yet, with me, it still retains the power 

To call a thousand memories back again. 
And through the coming years I'll think of it, 

For all its magic still remains with me ; 
Nor, while I breathe, . can memory e'er forget 

That ceaseless surf, those silver sands, nor thee. 



92 DAYDREAMS. 

^INQ OF JaOVE, THE ^A^DEN Sa^D. 

Sing of love, the maiden said, 

Sing it ere the roses fade ; 

Sing it, as he sang to me, 

In the moonlight by the sea. 

Sing the song the echoes sang. 

When the leafy coverts rang ; 

Sing it in the silent woods. 

In the dreamy solitudes. 

Where no other sound may be 

Than the song he sang to me. 

Trill it softly, heather bells. 

Where the sweet-songed linnet dwells, 

And where mountain breezes sigh ; 

Pour it, song lark, from the sky, 

Till the valleys ring again 

With the universal strain ; 

And sweet echo, send the bars 

Upward to the morning stars, 

Floating o'er the serial sea. 

Where my lover waits for me. 



A pearl, cast upon the wave-ribbed shore. 
Flung from old ocean's treasure caves below. 
May deck the diadem on a monarch's brow ; 

'Tis but a bauble there, and nothing more ! 
But pearl thoughts, flashed from the human soul, 
May thrill this living globe from pole to pole. 



DAY DREAMS. 



^ULD ^COTLANd'^ ]-(iLLS. 

Auld Scotland's hills, auld Scotland's hills^ 

Your memory brings to me 
The breath o' whins and yellow broom, 

Owre countless leagues of sea ; 
I see the reek abune your howes, 

Across the slopes of green, 
And thistles waving on your knowes. 

Where oft my feet have been. 

Auld Scotland's hills, auld Scotland's hills, 

Your heather waves as free 
As when, in childhood's sinless years, 

My mither sang to me ; 
And doon your glens the covert rings, 

Where wimpling burnies flow. 
And loud and lang the mavis sings 

His song of long ago. 



Auld Scotland's hills, auld Scotland's hills, 

You're dearer still to me 
Than a' the wealth o' boasted isles 

That deck the tropic sea ; 
And richer is the deathless lore 

That memory owes to thee. 
Than a' the gems of India's shore 

Or Peru's fabled sea. 



93 



94 DAY DREAMS. 

Auld Scotland's hills, auld Scotland's hills, 

lyife's sun is sinking low, 
And soon beyond the sunless shades 

My weary feet must go ; — 
But as the circling ages run. 

While memory's wings are free, 
I'll sing it still, beyond the sun, 

Auld Scotland's hills for me ! 



]^IR^T J.OVE. 

They stood beneath the trysting tree, 

The silver moon was high ; 
"Farewell, my love, farewell," said he; 

She answered with a sigh. 
" Farewell, my love, the stars are old. 

And the sun has gone to rest ; ' ' 
And he kissed her drooping head of gold 

That nestled on his breast. 

"Farewell, my love; it cannot be 

That time or space may sever 
The bond that binds my soul to thee ; 

My love is thine forever ! 
Come, pledge me, love, b}^ earth and sky, 

Come swear by brook and river ; ' ' 
"I swear," she answered with a sigh, 

' ' My love is thine forever ! ' ' 



DAY DREAMS. 

They stand beneath the trysting tree, 

The silver moon sinks low, 
Then slowly homeward, he and she, 

lyinked hand in hand they go. 
Her village home is hushed and still. 

Her watchful mother sleeping. 
They part beneath the window sill, 

And he and she are weeping. 

The sun is sinking in the west ; 

Dead is that trysting tree ; 
She has a baby at her breast, 

And happy twins has he ! 
The passing seasons come and go 

O'er mountain, brook and river, 
And wide apart the currents flow 

That severed them forever ! 



95 



K)de to ^om^n. 

Hail ! woman, sweetest boon of life ! 

What would this planet be, 
With all its sorrow and its strife, . 

If unadorned by thee ? 

The gorgeous tint of floral dyes 
That decks the tropic clime, 

Or dreaming depth of summer skies, 
Had never charms like thine. 



96 DAY DREAMS. 

The sweep of fancy's magic power 
That weaves the poet's dream, 

Were but the vapor of an hour 
Had woman never been. 



The lingering spell of perished years 
That memory's wings enfold, 

Were but as rags the miser wears, 
And worthless as his gold. 

Old Nature's hand profusion lends 
To deck earth's gorgeous ball, 

But woman moves among her gems 
The pearl of them all. 

Creation's lord has wealth untold, 
The love of friend and brother ; 

But grander loves her sex unfold — 
The love of wife and mother. 



She thrills the pulse of love's sweet dream, 
And weaves the wreaths of fame, 

And holds the peasant, peer and king 
Within her maofic chain. 



When sinks the heart with cheerless toil. 
With care and sorrow driven, 

Hope springs exulting from her smile, 
And links this earth with heaven ! 



DA V DREAMS. 97 



^Af^iDY ^COTT. 



A curious chiel was Sandy Scott, 

Wha wadna tell a lee 
For fifty pounds, yet pawned his coat 

To gang upon a spree ! 

And though each Sabbath day he sat 

Wi' Betty in his pew, 
Just like a saint, he'd be for that 

On Monday roaring fu' ! 

He argued weel on kirk and state. 

Was michty strong on hell, 
And when the drink was in his pate. 

He'd beat the laird himsel'. 

He proved it from the Apostle Paul, 

And ancient prophets too — 
The only guid thing since the fall 

Was Hielan' mountain dew ! 

He lo'ed the auld kirk frae his birth. 

And made this declaration, 
The only safe thing on this earth 

Was fordinordination ! 

And when he did get roaring fu' 
He'd preach and sing by turns. 

And mixed his gospel through and through 
Wi' broken screeds frae Burns. 



98 DAYDREAMS. 

And when at nicht he'd stagger hame, 
And "Bet" would scold and cry, 

He'd swear his mither was to blame, 
Since he was " clecket " dry. 

His only failing was the drink ; 

His heart was leal and true, 
And never cost puir ' ' Bet ' ' a wink 

Except when he got fu'. 

He made the claes for a' the toon, 
And swore that his auld shears 

Had frae his sires been handed down 
For maist a thousand years ! 

Yet though his story seems absurd 
Of how his craft had ranged, 

Of ae thing sure, I'll gie my word, 
His fashions never changed ! 

For far and near his neighbors said. 

In hamlet, cot or ha', 
A pair of breeks he never made 

That had been found too sma' ! 

They aye were ample roun' the waist 
And roomy roun' the knees. 

So when their wearer was in haste 
They waggit in the breeze ! 



DAY DREAMS. 

His Sunday coat had collars wide, 

That hid the lugs behind, 
Wi' flapping pouches on the side 

Auld Noah micht designed. 

Sometimes for weeks he'd mind his shears, 

The model of sobriety, 
And proved himself amang his peers 

The very best society. 

But then wad come his evil hour. 
When a' was broken through. 

And aff he'd gang wi' Tam I^intour, 
And get guid roaring fu'. 

A' thing was tried, frae threats to prayer, 
To wean him frae the ' ' cratur, ' ' 

But as the whiter grew his hair 
His craving grew the greater. 

At last a joke was tried for fun 
(It was some wag's invention), 

But only proved when it was done 
That he was past redemption. 

Auld Scott lay in a drunken fit 

At Duncan's in the clachan — 
The very mention o' it yet 

Sets a' the toon a-laughing. 



99 



lOO DAY DREAMS. 

They brought a coffin to the inn, 
All mounted grim and sable ; 

They put the drunken sleeper in, 
And set it on a table. 

They tied a napkin owre his een, 
Stuck feathers in the handles, 

And roun' the table, white and clean, 
They set some burning candles. 



Then hung a skull upon the wa', 
Arranged upon a swivel. 

That gave its visage sic a thraw 
As micht hae scared the devil ! 



And all aroun', wi' string and hook, 
They made red curtain swell, 

Wi' crimson lichts, that made it look 
The embodiment of hell. 



Then in a press a specter crept 
(This was the master stroke), 

To watch auld Sandy while he slept 
And scare him when he woke ! 

Thus Sandy lay, wrapped in his shroud. 
For hours where he was laid. 

And saving that he snored sae loud, 
They micht hae thocht him dead. 



DA Y DREAMS. loi 

The candles burned low and dim, 

While time crept on apace, 
But still the sheeted watcher grim 

Kept silent in his place. 

But maist things end, and Sandy's een 

Began to solve the gloom — 
He sat up in his coffin clean. 

And glowered aroun' the room. 

He didna faint, nor did he yell, 

Although his nose looked blue, 
But sitting in this mimic hell 

He roared, " Whaur am I noo ? " 



'Twas then the watcher waved his wand 
And blew his sulph'rous breath, 

And wi' a torchlicht in his hand 
He stalked oot grim as death. 

' ' Yer deid ! yer deid ! ' ' the specter said, 

' ' Oh ! sorry tale to tell ; 
Your body in the dust is laid. 

Your soul is here in hell." 



Deid!" cried auld Sandy in a breath; 

"How lang I'd like to know?" 
Deid," said the frowning form of death, 

" Deid just one month ago ! " 



I02 DAY DREAMS. 

"Aye, mon," says Sandy with a grin; 

"And wha are you, yersel' ?" 
The specter spake, " Here for my sin ; 

I've been twa years in hell." 

"If that's the case you know the place, 
Sae waste nae mair yer jaw. 

But haste a spell and ring the bell, 
And get a gill for twa." 

The spell was broke ; it ends in smoke- 
I blush the tale to mention ; 

They end the sichts, put out the lichts- 
Auld Scott is past redemption ! 



I\l^iq ^UT THE PeLL3 '• 

Ring out the bells, ring in that age 

The ancient prophet saw, 
When human passions cease to rage 

And the golden rule is law ! 
Ring in the Christ-like age of peace, 

When sham shall be unknown, 
And superstition's reign shall cease, 

While each shall have his own ! 
Ring in the least, ring in the whole. 

From empires great and small. 
Till echo peals from pole to pole 

The Brotherhood of all ! 



BAY DREAMS. 103 



T 



ODDY. 



A drink for honest men and gods, 
To cheer baith soul and body, 

Has been declared, by every odds. 
To be Scotch whiskey toddy ! 

Let froggy Frenchmen hae their cheer 
O' coney-ack and sody. 

And gutsy Dutchmen drink their beer- 
Leal men maun hae their toddy ! 

Let bloody Spaniards raise their weans 
On colored claret shoddy — 

They dinna ken what drinkin' means 
Wha never tasted toddy ! 

Let nations rise, and empires fa', 

And preachers preach their hobby, 

The deil, for me, may get them a'. 
If I am left my toddy ! 

And when vc^y days are ended here. 
And death has claimed my body, 

Let cronies gather around my bier 
And drink my dirge in toddy ! 



A lintie's nest amang the whins, 

A skylark soaring free. 
And ripples whaur the burnie rins 

Are lovely things to see ; 
But sweeter than the lintie's nest 

Or skylark singing free, 
Or crystal pools, where shadows rest. 

Are Maggie's lips to me ! 



I04 DAY DREAMS. 



I Jreajvit of Jhee. 



I dreamt of thee ; 

While all thy love had been, 
B}^ woodland, bower and lea, 
Came back again to me 

In that fond dream .^ 

I saw the sands 

Where we had roamed of yore, 
While, linked with loving hands, 
We dreamed of other lands, 

Upon that shore. 

I felt the. thrill 

Of youthful passion in the enraptured kiss, 
While soul and will 
Did linger still 

To crown our bliss. 

Oh ! blessed dream, 

That came to me in sorrow's shrouded hour, 
When every scene 
Seemed, in that dream. 

Sweet as a faded flower ! 



BAY I) J? £ A MS. 105 



JMellie -Qr^hajvi. 

I oft again, in fancy's dream, 
Revisit youth's auld hame, 

And linger there by wood and stream. 
Where I wooed NelHe Graham ; 

And roam the paths we loved of old, 

Amang the yellow whins, 
O'er mossy braes of russet gold, 

Up whaur the glen begins ; 

And list the sound of summer bells, 
Across the heath's perfume. 

With skylark ringing in the dells, 
And Unties in the broom ; 

And live again those hours of bliss. 

In groves without a name. 
And touch again with burning kiss 

The lips of Nellie Graham. 

But now the skylark's song is o'er, 

The lintie's voice is tame. 
And my fond lips will touch no more 

The cheeks of Nellie Graham. 

And love's young harp is silent now 

In that deserted hame, 
While death's cold frost is on the brow 

Of my lost Nellie Graham. 



lo6 BAY DREAMS. 



JaET ^E JlE jK'p THE ^^RAVE ^HOULD JlE. 

lyet me die as the brave should die, 

Upon the battlefield, 
With my gory weapon on my thigh, 

And my head upon my shield. 
I^et me hear the shout of victory won 

In the squadron's charging yell, 
With the thunder of the deep-mouthed gun 

And the shriek of shot and shell ! 



No mother's tear, nor weeping bride, 

My soldier's fate deplore ; 
But may the brave be at my side 

When my last fight is o'er. 
No mumbling monk to watch me die, 

With canting words of woe ; 
But let them catch my latest sigh. 

Who never feared a foe. 

Nor waiting crowds, nor sable bier. 

Nor hearse with nodding plume, 
Nor mocking mourner shed a tear, 

To stain my soldier's tomb. 
But comrades, lay me where I bled, 

Beneath the bloody sod, 
And leave me with my gory bed, 

My record, and my God. 



DAY DREAMS, 107 

5\nniz: JaEz. 

Sweet Annie Lee and I were slowly walking 

Along the path that winds around the river ; 
Sweet Annie I^ee and I ne'er thought of talking, 

We knew that parting was to be forever. 
Sweet Annie Lee and I were only thinking 

On what had been, and uttered sigh for sigh; 
We knew the past in hopeless love was sinking, 

And only longed together there to die. 

The Autumn stars their silent watch were keeping, 

And not a zephyr stirred the willow tree, 
I whispered in her ear while she was weeping, 

"I'll never see thee more, sweet Annie Lee." 
'Tis forty years, and I alone have wandered 

O'er many a land and over many a sea, 
And many a weary hour my life hath squandered, 

But yet I still remember Annie Lee. 

The loving hearts that are around me daily 

May sometimes wonder what my woe may be, 
And in their laughter they may jest me gaily — 

They have no knowledge of my Annie Lee. 
They laid her there beneath the waving grasses. 

Near the old haunts where she had roamed with 
me. 
And now the singing winds of Autumn passes 

Over the silent grave of Annie Lee. 

I sometimes wonder if she is up yonder, 
But not a tear is ever shed by me ; 

My joy hath been in solitude to ponder, 

And hoard thee my life's treasure, Annie Lee. 



I08 DAY DREAMS. 



JaOjs-q yVqo. 



Oh ! bring me back the summer bells 
My young heart used to know, 

That echo from the distant dells 
Of Memory's long ago ! 

Bring back the faces that have gone, 
With hearts that loved me so. 

And lips that sung my cradle song 
In childhood's long ago. 

Oh ! bring again the summer hills 
Where mountain breezes blow, 
With music from the leaping rills 
That thrilled me long ago ! 

Bring back the smiling vales amang 
My young feet used to go, 

And where the linnet sung his sang 
In youth's fair long ago. 

Oh ! bring me back the heather bloom, 
The knowes whaur thistles grow, 

The spreading whins and yellow broom 
Of sacred long ago ! 

Oh ! bring me back the Sabbath bells 
My childhood used to know — 

Sweet echoes from the distant dells 
Of Memory's long ago ! 



DAY DREAMS. 109 



Oh ! was it mortal or an angel's voice, 

Whose music, thrilling my enraptured soul, 
Awoke fair visions, bade each pulse rejoice. 

And o'er the past with living memories stole ? 
Oh ! was it music from the ocean deep, 

Whose echoes wandered to the distant shore ; 
Or vespers, stealing where my fathers sleep, 

Songs of a land that knows my step no more ? 

Or was it echoes of the Sabbath bell. 

Pealing afar midst glens and forests green, 
Or pibroch echoing in my native dell. 

Where long before the marshaled clan was seen ; 
Or was it voices from the solitudes, 

Or bleating flocks upon the distant hills, 
Or singing cuckoo in the green-robed woods, 

Or the glad laughter of the leaping rills ? 

No ; 'twas an anthem sung in better days 

By one whose voice can thrill my ears no more. 
Whose spirit mingles now midst seraph lays, 

And strikes its harp where angel hosts encore. 
But ah ! those notes awaken once again 

Dreams of my youth, like shadows from the tomb. 
Till latest years fond memor}^ shall retain 

Her sacred form, midst life's profoundest gloom. 



no DAY DREAMS. 

That voice has ceased, and on the throbbing air 

The faintest, fondest silver notes decay ; 
Methinks the spirits of the dead are there, 

And linger yet to beckon me away. 
But all is hushed, and the last whisper dies — 

Gone like a breath each blessed semitone ; 
I gaze enraptured on the star-robed skies, 

While weeps my soul in solitude alone. 



"Vf HEF^E Af^E JHOW THE 4)lD ^^RAVEYAI^D^ ? 

Ah, where are now the old graveyards, 

That time has laid so low, 
That held the dust of the ancient bards, 

Who sung in the long ago ? 

And where is now the green-robed mound 

The rude old sexton made. 
Where our hoary fathers gathered round 

To bury the ancient dead ? 

And where, alas ! the nameless heap. 

That held the infant's clay. 
Where the ancient mother knelt to weep, 

As mothers weep to-day ? 

And where the dust of the lover maid, 
Who tripped the lawn at morn. 

And the lips that kissed her in the shade. 
Beneath the trysting thorn ? 



DAY DREAMS. Ill 

And the busy dames, and the sages gray, 

Who laughed by the cottage door. 
And the nameless mounds where the warriors lay. 

Who died on the fields of yore ? 

And the knight so bold, and the tyrant strong, 

Where does their ashes lie. 
And the minstrel old, who twanged his song. 

When the Yule-tide feast was high ? 

And where the feet that tripped the dance, 

Beneath the Christmas bough, 
And the knights of steel, who couched the lance 

In the lists of long ago ? 

And the hunter bold, whose bugle rang 

Its early morning peal, 
And the reaper bands, who danced and sang 

In the merry harvest reel ? 



And the yeoman's feet that brushed the lawn. 

Where have they gone to-day. 
And the warder grim who watched the dawn 

From his turret grim and gray ? 

And the dusty boor who ground the meal. 

And he who sowed in Spring, 
And the lusty smith, with hands of steel. 

Who made the anvil ring ? 



112 DAY DREAMS. 

And the tailor old, who plied his shears, 
And the drouthy souter's tale, 

That thrilled the group of village peers. 
Who quaffed the home-brewed ale? 

Where have they gone, the sire, the son, 
The matron and the maid ? — 

No record left beneath the sun 
To tell where they were laid. 

But like the forest leaves that fall 
'Neath Winter's biting gloom, 

The green-robed earth shall be for all 
One universal tomb ! 

Is this the end, O dreary tale? — 

Let loving faith respond, 
While Hope celestial lifts the vale. 

And points the dawn beyond. 



^ ScRyVP. 

A wee bit cot blinks on the lea, 

Wi' an auld thack roof of straw, 
But dearer is that cot to me 

Than palace grand, or ha'. 
The voices frae its hearth have gane, 

It's wa's are bleached and torn, 
But aye to me it will remain 

The cot where I was born. 



DAY DREAMS. II3 



Pe^paii^. 



I am weary, weary, weary 

Of life's hopeless dream ; 
All my path is dark and dreary, 

And my feet are weary, weary — 
Would I ne'er had been ! 

Others may the sunlight see. 
But all hope is dead to me ; 

I am weary of the longing 
Of the visions unfulfilled. 

And my weary brain is groaning, 
While my silent heart is moaning. 

With its longings chilled — 
Passion raging like the sea. 

While all hope is dead in me. 
I am weary counting over 

Perished names that are no more. 
While the voices as they hover 

In the darkness call me over, 
Over to the silent shore. 

Would that now that hour might be, 
For all hope is dead in me ! 

I am weary, weary, weary 
Of life's passing sham ; 

All my path is dark and dreary ; 
I am weary, weary, weary 

Since my days began ; 
Others may the daybreak see, 

But all hope is dead in me. 



114 BAY DREAMS. 



yV pREAM. 



I dreamt a dream : That my limbs were old, 

My locks were grey, and my heart was cold ; 

With weary feet, forsaken and poor, 

I roamed alone o'er a desolate moor ; 

And over its waste, in sorrow and tears, 

I wandered alone for a thousand years, 

Where its stunted grass was withered and bare. 

And not a sound to cheer me there. 

Save the lifeless wind around my head. 

That moaned as if the world was dead, 

With the sunless sky like a shroud of lead, 

And not a trace could my vision scan 

That ever denoted the foot of man. 

As I roamed alone, forlorn and poor, 

O'er this desolate waste, o'er this trackless moor, 

I turned my head to gaze behind. 

And I saw the waste and I heard the wind. 

And changed again mj^ weary eye ; 

But behind and before was moor and sky. 

Then I wept and prayed that my heart might die, 

But my weary feet still wandered on, 

With many a tear and many a groan, 

While memories came to mock my woe. 

With faces of the long ago ; 

And my maddened brain in the dreary hours 

Pictured old haunts in my native bowers, 



BAY D R EA MS. II5 

And I heard them sing in my childhood tongue 

The songs I loved when my heart was young. 

And I laughed again, as I stood before 

The porch that crowned the cottage door, 

And saw the well where the bucket swung, 

And the garden path where the old gate hung. 

Then I hastened on, but my haste was vain, 

For this phantom of my fevered brain 

Faded away from the trackless moor. 

As I stood and wept, forlorn and poor. 

Then I cried, ' ' Oh God ! can such misery be ? 

Is there no rest on this waste for me. 

To slumber here with my woes effaced — 

A speck of dust on this trackless waste ? ' ' 

Then I heard a voice that softly said : 

"Come, wanderer, here, and rest thy head." 

Then I turned to see, but no form was there, 

Save the dreary moor and the lifeless air ; 

But I felt the earth beneath me shake, 

And I shrieked the shriek of the maniac, 

And tore my hair with a frenzied yell, 

With a curse at heaven and a curse at hell. 

Then a hand was laid on my burning head ; 

Then I closed my eyes, and my heart was dead ; 

And it laid me down to rot and rust. 

And covered me o'er with the silent dust. 

And left me there in my sleep serene — 

The sleep of the dead, that has never a dream ! 



Il6 DAY DREAMS. 



JaAgT JSlCHT A J'A3^ j^AjVl' K^WRE THE JaEyV. 

Last nicht a lass cam' owre the lea, 
Before the setting sun gaed doon ; 

The licht o' youth was in her e'e, 

And gowd was in her hair sae broon. 

And as she crossed the knowes sae green, 
And tripped the blooming heath amang, 

The wondering lammies winked their een, 
And hushed was every lintie's sang. 

And stilled was every brook and rill, 
While lark and mavis held their glee, 

And e'en the setting sun stood still. 
To see a lass sae fair as she. 

IvCt dreamy German bodies sing 
Of water nymph or fairy queen. 

For thee my muse will spread its wing, 
Sweet lass that met wi' me vestreen. 



yV ^IQH. 

Only the stars above, 

Only the night and me. 
Only a heart, my love. 

Waiting alone for thee. 
Only a foot on the grass, 

Only a hand in mine. 
Only a sigh, as the moments pass, 

But a memory ever divine. 



DA V DREAMS. ny 



pu^Y ^E jHoT 'JMe^th Sculptured Jome^. 

Oh, bury me not 'neath sculptured domes, 
Where the kings of the earth are laid, 
Nor under the sod in the sunless homes 

Where the feet of the thoughtless tread. 
Oh, lay me not where the millions sleep, 

Nor alone in the sunless dells. 
Nor on the brow of the mountain steep. 

Where the soul of the tempest dwells ; 
And lay me not where eye can scan 

The form of scroll or bust, 
Where never the foot of beast or man 

Can tread o'er my silent dust ; 
But bury me yonder by the sea. 

In some cavern nook, alone, 
Where the waves shall sing a dirge for me, 

With their ceaseless monotone. 
Oh, lay me there when the sun is low. 

Where the waves break on the shore, 
By the sound of ocean's ebb and flow. 

And the breakers' wild encore. 
There let me rest 'neath the rocky strand, 

By the echoes of the sea. 
Beneath the clifl", where no human hand 
Shall carve a line for me. 



Ii8 DAYDREAMS. 



|jN' y\ Jf^EAjVI op THE jHlQHT. 

In a dream of the night I was wafted away 

O'er the wild and trackless main, 
To the scenes of my youth, once so bright and so 

gay, 
Where the treasures of memory never decay, 
To the home of my childhood again. 

I roamed the wild heath of my own native hills. 

In the paths where my young feet had run. 
With the music of birds and the murmur of rills, 
In the gladness of youth, ere the sorrows and ills 
Or the lessons of life had begun. 

'Twas Spring, and the lark was caroling above, 

From his home in the cloudless blue, 
And the future to me seemed an Eden of love. 
While the past was a web misfortune had wove, 
And life was beginning anew. 

And I danced and I ran by the old cottage door. 

And I swung on the old apple tree. 
And I sat in the bowers where often before 
I had dreamed my young dream in those moments 
of yore — 
A dream that was never to be ! 



BAY DREAMS. 



119 



And I listened again, in the gladness of youth, 

To the echo of forest and dells, 
And the caw of the rook from turret and roof 
Was sweeter to me, though his notes were uncouth, 

Than the chime of cathedral bells. 

And the breath of the Spring from dewdrop and 
flower 

Blest earth with its sweetest perfume, 
As it thrilled in the shade of covert and bower, 
And danced in the rays of the brooklet shower, 

Where the linnet was singing in tune. 

And I mused, as I lay in my vision so sweet, 

That my race of ambition was run — 
That my lamp would go out in that blessed retreat, 
Far away from the hum and bustle of feet, 
In the spot where my life had begun. 

But a shadow came over my beautiful dream. 
As it vanished in sorrow and tears, 

And the valleys grew dark where the sunlight had 
been, 

And blasted the flowers, while the forest so green 
Grew withered and hoary with years. 

And the song of the woods grew silent and still, 
While the mountains loomed misty and gray, 

And the breath of the Spring grew withered and 
chill. 

While the music of birds and the murmuring rill 
All vanished forever awav \ 



I20 DAY DREAMS. 



J:,INE3 ^DDREg3ED TO ^133 JuLIA j^- 



Oh ! beautiful brunette, 

Child of the Southern skies, 
With eyes divinely set 

In beauty's blending dies ! 
Child of Columbia's land, 

Daughter of freedom thou — 
Did ever painter's hand 

Picture so fair a brow ? 
Did ever Grecian art 

Sculpture a form like thine ? — 
Blending in every part 

The human and divine : 
With teeth like coral bars, 

With eyes, whose living light 
Sparkle like the stars 

In the beautiful tropic night. 
Oh ! beautiful brunette, 

I have roamed in many a clime, 
But never yet have met 

A face so fair as thine. 
Child of Columbia's land. 

Fair daughter of the free, 
May virtue long with bounteous hand 

Deck flowery paths for thee ! 
And when your rosy lips are cold. 

And life's last sun has set, 
Then may you wear a crown of gold, 

Oh ! beautiful brunette ! 



DAY DREAMS. 121 



Jhe Infinite. 

The lesser and greater, 
On earth, in air, 
Alike declare 

A great Creator. 

And the tuneless frog. 
Croaking his song. 
While he hops along 

In the flowerless bog. 

In the vast plan, 

Praiseth the All-seeing 
True, to his being. 

As the voice of man. 

And the sparrow's song. 
Faithful as bells. 
Whose echo swells 

In cathedral dome ; 

And the silent quiver 

Of the rippling brook, 
In its hidden nook, 

As the mighty river. 

And the insect's wings. 
With curious woof. 
Is a grander proof 

Than the robe of kings ; 



122 DA Y DREAMS. 

And the countless sand 
Upon the shore — 
Attesting, evermore, 

An Infinite hand ; 

And the green sod, 

And the ceaseless beat 
Of ocean — all repeat, 

"An eternal God." 

In awe we bend, 

And trembling, scan 

A time that ne'er began, 

And cannot end. 

We trace the new-born star ; 

But who shall know 
From whence we are, 

Nor where we 0:0 ? 



Jhe ^OET, 

The poet sees, with prophetic eye, 
Where truth and fiction jars, 

And writes upon his aerial sky, 
The pathway of the stars ; 

And scans with vision half divine 
What millions may not see — 

The dawn, beyond the night of time, 
Of ages yet to be. 



DAY DREAMS. 123 



¥fHO ^Hy^LL ¥/f^ITE THE f^AQE |jVlJV10RT/iL ? 

Who shall write the page immortal 

Of earth's coming jubilee, 
lyift the shadows from the portal 

Of the races yet to be ? 

Who has heard the angels singing 

Since the golden age began, 
And the constellations ringing 

With the brotherhood of man ? 

Thrones of ancient creeds are wrecking 
Where the bells of freedom chime, 

And the golden dawn is breaking 
From the starless night of time. 

From the voiceless soul of nations, 
lyike the Spring flowers of the year, 

Comes the countless generations 
Filling still our places here. 

Who shall sing of love's emotion, 
Lovers' sighs, and lovers' tears, 

Dreaming by the moonlit ocean, 
In those coming phantom years? 

Twilight shadows softly stealing 
Over mountains, vale and lea, 
With the bells of freedom pealing 
In those ages yet to be. 



124 ^^ ^ DREAMS. 

Earth shall worship other heroes, 

When our strength has gone to rust 

Other Caesars, other Neros 

Treading o'er our silent dust. 

Other songs will cheer earth's lovers, 
Other hands will write the page, 

When the green-robed valley covers 
Every vestige of this age. 

Other Springs will bring the swallows 
When our names have passed away. 

And the sunlight flood the valleys 
Just as golden as to-day. 

And the wretch will still be scheming 
For the dross of human strife, 

And the poet still be dreaming 
O'er the miracle of life. 



And the ships will sail the ocean. 
Fading in the distant gray. 

And the school lad watch their motion, 
With the wonder of to-day. 

And the dawn will send its amber 
O'er the vales of waving corn. 

Stealing in the bridal chamber, 
To the lovers yoi unborn. 



DAYDREAMS. 125 

Other forms will fill our places 

In the cottage, in the hall, 
And these homes forget our faces, 

While new races own them all. 

Swift and strong the flood is stealing 

On the ceaseless tide of time. 
And the morning stars are pealing 

Peace and love for every clime. 

IvCt us join the hymn of gladness, 
While the priceless moments run. 

And the weary cease their sadness. 
Till the golden goal is won. 

And in dealing with another, 
Keep the golden rule in view, 

Treat each fellow as a brother. 
So that he so deal with you ! 



!PlA]HK JaEyVF pRE3JE:]MTATI0JM. 

May this little token be, 

Mary Croal, 

A souvenir of me, when far beyond the sea, 
Mary Croal ; 

And the peace of God be thine 

While you tread the sands of time, 

Till your pathway is divine, 

Mary Croal, 



126 DAYDREAMS. 



JalNE^ ON THE ]PlRTHDy\Y Of l\oBEI\T i^URJM^. 

Awake the lyre with music and with song, 

Strike the wild harp, and roll the anthem forth 
From distant isles, where tropic suns are known. 

Back to the regions of the "stormy north." 
Ten thousand tongues swell out the jubilee, 

Ten thousand lips the chorus grand encore, 
And send it flashing underneath the sea. 

And roll it onward still from shore to shore. 

Awake the echoes of old Scotland's hills. 

Where blooming heath her rugged cliffs adorn, 
And bring us music from her silver rills. 

To hail the day her ' ' poet king was born ; ' ' 
And let us honor her immortal dead, 

And hang the laureate's wreath upon his tomb, 
While fancy lingers in the classic shade 

Beside the waters of old rippling Doon. 

No banners waved from city's glittering domes. 

No marshaled pomp, nor thunder peal is heard, 
Nor tinseled crowds, around earth's gilded thrones, 

Awaits the coming of the peasant bard. 
Not from the mighty on the scrolls of fame, 

Not from the sires that blaze their names on high, 
That humble shieling gives the world a name 

That will not perish till the nations die ! 



DA Y DREAMS. I27 

He touched the chords that thrill the human heart, 

That makes man kith and kin in every clime, 
And sung that rank was but the gild of art, 

That honest manhood only was divine. 
Strike the wild harp ! with music and with song 

Awake the echoes as the day returns ! 
And send the swelling anthem rolling on 

To hail the day that gave us Robert Burns ! 



^N |NVOCy\TIO]M. 

Oh, take me away from the common herd. 

To some desert solitude. 
Where the worthless jest is never heard, 

And the vulgar ne'er intrude. 

Oh, take me away from the jar of feet 
To the depths of some wild glen. 

From the ceaseless thunder of the street 
And the selfish haunts of men. 

Oh, take hence from vice and guile, 

Where the heaven-toned winds are free, 

As they murmur peace on some lonely isle 
In the far-off tropic sea. 

There let me roam its silent vales, 
Where human slave ne'er trod. 

And list the voice of gentle gales — 
Sweet songs of Nature's God. 



128 DAY DREAMS. 



i^LOW ^N, Ye ^I]MD3 ! 

Blow on, ye winds, o'er cliffs and bay, 

And stir the silent sea, 
And waft the mighty ship away 

That bears my love from me ! 

Blow on, soft winds, where warblers sing 

In blooming brake and tree ; 
Alas ! your notes can only bring 

A song of woe to me. 

Blow on, ye winds, where freedom thrills 

The pulses of the free ; 
I hear no music on your hills — 

My heart is on the sea. 

Blow on, ye winds, from coral caves, 
Where sea nymphs laugh with glee, 

And send an anthem o'er the waves 
For her that's on the sea. 

And waft ye winds, across the deep, 

The silent prayer from me — 
Sweet dreams may bless the loved one's sleep 

Who slumbers on the sea. 



DA V DREAMS. 129 



^Y JalTTLE ^AID. 

*'Come buy this bouquet, sir," she said, 
" 'Twill deck your room at home." 
The words came from a pretty maid. 
Whose little stand, with flowers arrayed, 
Was resting on a stone. 

Her head was crowned with wreaths of gold, 
That clustered round each cheek, 

And down her little back they rolled ; 

And fairer than the flowers she sold, 
They nearly touched her feet. 

The light of youth was in her eyes, 

For many a charm had she ; 
And as she laughed, between her cries. 
She seemed a creature from the skies, 

Or fairy from the sea. 

Sweet clusters on her stand were laid, 

Some tied with little bands, 
And as she spoke, the little maid 
Picked from the clusters bud and blade. 

And tied them with her hands. 

With jessamine and mignonette, 

Fuchias and violets blue. 
While fragrant heilotrope was set 
In crimson buds, and leaves yet wet 

With morning's early dew. 



I30 DAY DREAMS. 

Geraniums, too, and pansies sweet. 

And roses fair to see ; 
But though her art was faultless neat, 
That Nature's bounty made replete, 

The sweetest bud was she. 



And often in the summer hours 

I passed her day by day, 
And as she sat among her flowers 
She seemed an angel in the bowers 
That never could decay. 



And when my heart would weary moan 

With sorrow's aching pain, 
My longing ears would bless her song, 
As if those hours my youth had known 
Were coming back again. 



And so, for years, my little maid 

Sat hy her rustic stand. 
The crown of youth upon her head, 
And flowers that never seemed to fade 

She tied with busy hand. 

But fate brought round a change for me- 

''As all things human change" — 
And in a land beyond the sea 
That maiden's face, so glad with glee, 
Was lost in faces strange ; 



DAY DREAMS. 131 

And there, beneath the torrid zone, 

The golden link was broke 
That bound me to the past and home, 
And she, the music of my song. 

Was in my toil forgot. 

And thus, through dangers far apart, 

In fortune's changing scene, 
This little maiden, with her art, 
Seemed ever banished from my heart, 

As if she ne'er had been. 



But as the seasons rolled away, 

The lengthening years grew bleak, 
And in my hair grew threads of grey. 
And wrinkles, written every day, 
Were gathering on my cheek. 

And in my heart a fever grew 

That knawed with ceaseless pain — 
A longing for the land that knew 
My early home beyond the blue, 
I sighed to see again. 

That home was in my midnight dream, 

And in my waking hours ; 
Its distant woods were ever green. 
And all the haunts where youth had been 

Seemed robed again with flowers. 



132 DAY DREAMS, 

And thus my weary spirit sighed 

Across the deep to go, 
And every throbbing pulse replied 
To see those faces, ere I died, 

That loved me long ago. 

And soon my bark was on the deep, 

Bound for my native shore, 
And soon I saw those cliffs so steep, 
And felt the grass beneath my feet — 

My native land once more ! 

But faces strange were in my home, 

And changed, too, was the street ; 
I stood a creature there unknown. 
And felt the hearts I loved had gone 
To their eternal sleep. 

But as I leaned my weary head, 

To ease m}^ throbbing brain. 
While musing on the silent dead — 
The, memory of that little maid 

Came stealing back again. 

'"Tis here," I cried; "there stood her stand. 

Close by that garden wall ; ' ' 
I turned. Oh God ! a shrivelled hand 
Tied up a bouquet with a band 

Upon the same old stall ! 



DAYDREAMS. 133 

I knew the face I loved of old — 

I knew those eyes so meek — 
But, ah ! the crown she wore of gold 
Was white as snow, and where it rolled 

I saw a wasted cheek. 

Her tale was written on her head, 

In wrinkled lines of woe ; 
She seemed the ghost of years decayed, 
The ruin of my little maid 

Of forty years ago ! 

The clustering buds from garden bowers 

Were fresh and fair to see — 
They seemed the soul of perished hours ; 
But ah ! among those clustering flowers, 

A faded rose was she ! 



"Come, buy this bouquet, sir," she said, 

" 'Twill deck your room at home." 
The words came from a shrivelled maid— 
A shadow of the years decayed — 
With fifty winters on her head, 
And beauty she had none ! 



134 BAY DREAMS. 



]N[ever to ^ee Jhee t^qaij^ 



Never to see thee again, never, 

Nor hear the witching music of your voice ; 
Never to taste again forever 

That silent kiss that made my soul rejoice ! 

Never to hear again your laugh of gladness 
Awake the lingering echoes of the Spring ; 

Never to feel again the enraptured madness 

Which thrilled my heart thy love alone could 
bring. 

Never to meet again in Summer's twilight, 

In the old haunts, when every sound departs ; 

Never to linger with thee in the starlight, 

And feel the silent throbbing of our hearts. 

Never to taste again thy lips so tender, 

Blest with the fleeting sweetness of a sigh ; 

Never to see thee again, and yet remember 
The thousand memories that can never die. 

Never to wish again the days were longer, 

I^ike the dead years, but feel them now too long ; 

Never to wish again my heart was stronger 
For thy lost love, but feel it now too strong. 

Never to dream again when life is ended. 

That thy fond steps may seek the silent spot 

Where strangers laid me, friendless, unattended, 
Forever there forgetting — and forgot ! 



DAY DREAMS. 135 



JaI]ME3 TO ^1^3. Y" 



Your eyes are beautiful with love's sweet passion, 
Your lips like roses of the early Spring ; 

Your wealth of hair no mimic art could fashion, 
Is like the gloss that decks the raven's wing. 

Your teeth like pearls that the ocean weaves 
Down in his coral solitudes below ; 

Your bosom like the foam the tempest heaves 
Upon the golden sands ; your brow like snow. 

Your feet like fairy's feet among the bowers, 
Your voice like music from an angel's harp ; 

Your kiss like nectar from a thousand flowers. 
Your touch sends madness through my longing 
heart. 

There is no creature on this earth or air, 
Or nymph that slumbers in the tropic sea, 

Like that sweet self, who haunts me everywhere. 
And holds the wealth of earth and heaven for me. 

I may be sinning with my heart's emotion. 

And with these words I may be wronging you ; 

'Twere better then to perish m}^ devotion 
In that sad hour that held our last adieu. 

Then fare thee well ! and as the moments measure 
Up the long years with furrows on thy cheek, 

Fond memory still will hoard thee as its treasure. 
Yet sorrowing know we nevermore shall meet. 



136 DAY DREAMS. 



yv Y^^ioN 



I remember, years ago, 

Meeting, when the sun was low, 
Coming up a country road 
Where it leaves the meadows broad, 

Rounding to the shady wood, 

Onward into solitude, 

Over brook and over rill, 
Passing near the ruined mill. 

There, at sunset, I have said, 

First I met a pretty maid; 

Coming from the valleys fair 
In the dreamy summer air. 

Made the vision seem to me 

lyike a dream what heaven may be, 
For she seemed the fairest thing 
Ever moved on foot or wing. 

Never had I met before 

On this earth, by lake or shore. 

Such an eye and such a brow, 
( Cannot even name her now) ; 

Yet she fills my living brain. 

And forever must remain, 

Through the coming years to be, 
Memory's sweetest dream to me. 



BAY DREAMS. 137 

Such a thing, divinely fair, 
Not of earth, and not of air, 

Tripping down that lonely road 

Where it leaves the meadows broad ; 
Can that maiden now be old. 
Crown of snow, that then was gold ? 

Can those eyes have lost their light, 

Shrouded in eternal night ? 

Tell me, sires, whose visions trace 
Depth of time and depths of space, 
Why that vision on the road 
Where that nameless maiden trod. 
Has been stronger, in my needs, 
Than my faith in perished creeds ? — 
Sweeter, when my sun was low, 
Than all else I've lived to know. 



^E ^AIf\ ^ANQ i^EFor^E ¥/e pAI^T. 

Ae mair sang before we part, 

Ae mair toast before the morn, 
I give it here : ' ' To Scotland dear, 

The land where I was born ! " 
To-morrow's sun will wake the hills, 

To-morrow's wind will shake the corn. 
But I shall be afar from thee, 

Dear land where I was born ! 



138 DAYDREAMS. 



Jhink of ^E. 

One simple boon I crave, 

'Tis all I ask of thee : 
In some long future day, 
When years have passed away, 
Remember me ! 

And when the roll of mirth 

Shall thrill thy heart with glee, 
Oh, pause one moment there, 
With garlands in thy hair. 

And think of me ! 

And when before thy God, 
Alone on bended knee, 

In thy short prayer. 

In silence there. 

Remember me ! 

And when afflictions come. 

And sorrows crowd on thee, 

Think of the green-robed bowers. 

And all the blessed hours 
You spent with me ! 

And when your eyes grow dim. 

And age shall bend thy knee, 

When the long shadows come. 

And thy last race is run, 
Still think of me ! 



BAY DREAMS. 139 



^ P/.Y IN THE 'VyoOD^, 

This little sonnet is a true narration 

Of some tall shooting I and Kendrick made, 

And was the outcome of an invitation 

I had from him, when first our plans were laid, 

To have a little shooting in October — 

About the middle — when the woods look sober. 

I need not enter on a long description 

Of what was said about the dogs and guns, 

Because I have a settled-down conviction 
To hate expansion, as I hate bad puns. 

And do detest those scribbling knaves who bore us — 

(Of course I have no reference here to Horace.)* 

Enough to state we got our ammunition 
Duly prepared about the eleventh day, 

And had our boot-legs greased to full repletion, 
With pouches in our coats to stow away 

At least a score of quail or partridges — 

Besides we had one hundredweight of cartridges ; 

Also a couple of good setter dogs 

Was kindly lent us from a neighboring store. 
Both warranted to run through woods or bogs — 

As run they did the woodcock by the score. 
(I mention this, because I am particular 
To get my facts, both square and perpendicular.) 

* A so-named local poet. 



I40 DAY DREAMS. 

And so the eve preceding saw ns seated 

In the last train (we took the smoking car). 

Our little personal arrangements completed, 
And the two dogs well fastened to a bar, 

We dozed, and dreamt of woodcock, snipe and quail, 

While the steam-horse went thundering o'er the rail. 

Next came our destination in due order. 

While midnight loomed above the slumbering 
hills. 
I cannot name the place ; 'tis near the border 
Of Sullivan, or Ulster, where the rills 
Come thundering from the cliffs ere blustering Boreas 
Binds up the lakes — (I leave the rest for " Horace"), 

And hasten over : how in peace we slumbered. 
Blissful as Cupids, in our sleep serene — 

Kxcepting once when weary Kendrick thundered. 
Snoring in his sleep, in some wild dream 

Of having caught a grizzly in his lair, 

And was devoured, with gun, and bones, and hair ! 

But mark the distant hills with morning gray, 
While Milo* hastens out the dogs and guns, 

And note the footsteps of the new-born day ; 

Walk o'er the mountains, as the goddess comes — 

I mean Aurora — in the eastern skies — 

This morning she was red about the eyes ! 

* The huntsman. 



DAY DREAMS. 141 

Our next arrangement was a seated wagon, 
All fitly hitched on to a sturdy nag ; 

While Milo put some cider in a flagon, 

With ample luncheon rolled up in a bag ; 

And the two dogs were snugly stowed away 

Down in the bottom with some meadow ha5^ 

I need not mention how the wheels went round, 
Nor how we revelled in the morning breeze : 

Enough to say, we reached the hunting ground, 
And straightway entered in among the trees, 

And as an introduction to the fun, 

Each on the instant doubly cocked his gun. 

There is a glory in the dream of fame, 

There is a grandeur in the boundless lea, 

And wild pulsations language cannot name. 

Thrilling the heart, when every pulse is free ; 

But there's a something, grander than them all — 

It is the pheasant's whirr, the gun flash, and his fall ! 

But hark ! the wings rise from the distant brake ! 

And see the sweeping wood-duck circling comes ! 
While I and Milo quiet positions take. 

Waiting with bated breath and ready guns ; 
Till Kendrick takes them in a straightened line, 
And with both barrels brings down twenty-nine ! 



142 DAY DREAMS. 

The next was Milo's, at an English rail, 

Killed with his right ; but what may seem more 
strange, 

He with his left just winged a dozen quail ! 

Sitting on a fence, they came within his range. 

While I (your servant), willing to encore, 

With my left barrel fixed off fourteen more ! 

But what was better still, as I may thrive — 
(For there is nothing I so hate as lying !) — 

He with both barrels bagged his twenty-five 
Beautiful pigeons, as they passed him flying ; 

While Kendrick, using only seven cartridges. 

Killed on the wing just half-a-dozen partridges ! 

But language fails me to describe in full 

The wonders done on that October day ; — 

How Milo swept them like a whirlpool. 

And Kendrick bore the victor's crown away; 

While I alone — 'tis certain as I write — 

In seventy minutes bagged ten brace of snipe ! 

At four we counted twenty brace of quail 

And thirteen brace of plump young partridges. 

With several bushels full of snipe and rail. 

And only stopped the sport for lack of cartridges, 

With rabbits enough to fill a parish school — 

'Tis certain that we filled four hampers full ! 



BAV DREAMS. 143 

I drop the curtain here : my task is done — 
The meek historian of a glorious day : 

My boots are greased, and oiled up is my gun, 
And for the season all are stowed away. 

But if a living sportsman doubts this lay, 

I'll prove it o'er again some future day. 



Jhe KJ)wl. 

When the hills are black and the moon is low, 

And the clock ticks in the old church tower, 
And dreaming cocks at midnight crow, 

And the owl blinks in his ivy bower, 
And lovers part where the roses blow. 
While soft the silver dewdrops fall 
From the lichen leaves on the churchyard wall ; 

When the wind is hushed in the distant dells, 
Where weary flocks rest in the shade. 

And the elfs of night in their fairy cells 
Weave love-dreams for the slumbering maid, 

And the rising moon glints o'er the fells. 
And old dames shake for the dog's death howl, 
Then is heard the wail of the night-winged owl. 



144 DAY DREAMS. 



^Y JaOVE'? •(^ANE *pWRE THE ^EA- 

I'll roam nae mair the heather hills, 
My love's gane owre the sea, 

Nor wander whaur the laverock thrills 
The hills he roamed wi' me. 

I^et Summer gloamings come and gae, 
As gloamings used to be — 

They only bring me thochts o' wae, 
Since he's gane owre the sea. 

And let the Spring, wi' Nature's art, 

Re-deck the flowery lea, 
There's nae mair Summer in my heart 

Since he's gane owre the sea ! 

The wind blaws owre the mossy howes, 
Wi' fragrance frae the dells, 

And happy bees wing owre the knowes. 
To drink the heather bells ; 

But singing bees or heather bloom, 

Or breezes frae the sea, 
Or mossy knowes or yellow broom, 

Are naething now to me ] 

For since he's gane, and I'm alane, 

I've nae wish but to dee ; 
And soon, alas ! will wave the grass 

Owre a' that's left of me ! 



DAY D J? BAMS. 145 

|n ^EjVlORIAJVI. 

That face is changed that was so fair, 
That heart is still that beat so free ; 
And gazing on that form I see 

The frost of death upon her hair. 

I sleep, and dreaming, wake in tears, 
My morning skies are leaden gray ; 
I think upon that form of clay. 

That was the soul of perished years. 

I watch the shadows on the lea, 

And hear the evening bells afar, 
And gaze upon the evening star. 

But not an echo comes from thee. 

I seek thy footprints on the sands, 
And wander on with tireless feet 
To where the wind-blown meadows meet. 

And still return with empty hands. 

I hear the winter tempest wave 

The frozen boughs above the roof, 
And think upon that frozen woof 

That weaves above that roofless grave. 

Oh, fleeting breath ! those hills remain 
A thousand years, when we are gone. 
And time has blotted from the stone 

The moulding fragments of thy name. 



146 DAY DREAMS. 

The pall of sorrow shrouds my breast, 
My hope is dead, my faith is gone ; 
My thoughts are like the thistle blown 

Before the winds, that has no rest. 

The summer comes, the blossoms fade, 
And fast the fleeting seasons run. 
And all is gladness 'rieath the sun. 

But thou are silent with the dead. 

Across the hills the shadows fall, 

The Autumn leaves are in the grass, 
And swift the changing seasons pass. 

Like Summer glimpses on the wall. 

Oh hope, so long; oh life, so brief; 

Oh dreams our better years have known 
Oh hearts, thrice dearer than our own, 

Oh joys, that only end in grief ! 

I sit upon the Summer grass, 

And hear across the weeping hills 
The wind-blown murmur of the rills. 

While swift the clouded shadows pass. 

I see the mist-robed summits fade 

Beneath the glowing evening sky. 

And watch the lengthening shadows die 

Beyond the vales, where thou are laid. 



DAYDREAMS. 147 

I wander on the rock-bound shore, 

Where the wild waves of ocean beat, 
And hear the moaning wind repeat 

My wail of sorrow evermore ! 

Beyond the pathless serial sea 

The distant fading stars I trace, 

And wonder where in boundless space 

Is there a living shade of thee. 

The tidal wave comes to the shore, 
The setting sun returns again. 
And Spring re-clothes the wintry plain, 

But thy hushed voice is heard no more ! 

Not all the power of Nature's breath, 
Not all the songs of earth or sea, 
Not all the countless years to be, 

Can bring thee from the halls of death. 

My harp of life is silent now, 

The years but mock my living death ; 

I wander like a specter wraith. 
The pall of sorrow on my brow. 

But o'er the starless night of time 

There glows a dawn I cannot see, 
And flickers like a hope for me, 

That thou can hear this wail of mine. 



148 DAY DREAMS. 

ji^AH |t jPe ^0 ? 

Can it be so, that I must go 

Where no glad stream of life shall flow ? — 

Must the abyss of nothingness 

All aspiration overthrow? 

Shall every thrill of life grow chill, 
And power and will, 
Ending with breath, in hopeless death 
Be nil? 

And shall the sun, quenched like a pun, 
When life's brief hour is done, 
Give up its light in one eternal night, 
Because my race is run ? 

For what to me, without identity. 
Were sun, and air, and sea. 
But as a shroud, or ether cloud 
On time's immensity? 

To-day is all in all — each hour is but the pall 
Of centuries that fall 
To us as brief as the Autumn leaf 
Or shadows on the wall. 

Thus all things hinge on sense : 
The universe immense, with all its powers intense, 
I^acking the soul, were useless as the pole. 
And void of recompense. 



DAY DREAMS. 149 

And time were naught without the power of thought, 
And this terrestrial mote 

Upon the ether cast has neither first nor last 
Without a soul inwrought. 

And thus no time can be without the you and me ; 
For who assumes a tree, 

I^acking the life divine, has any sense of time. 
Either bound or free? 

We see the blade of grass, true while the seasons pass, 
As the great jungle mass ; 
Without a flaw to the eternal law 
Of life and death, alas ! 

And the great mountains stand, 
And the hills map out the land 
With the ocean's rim of sand ; 
While brook and river seem here forever 
A work sublime and grand ! 

And life, and strife and tears 
Roll up ten thousand years ; 
But who the echo hears 

Of voices that respond from the sunless night beyond. 
Where no breaking dawn appears? 

So the question comes again, beyond this scene of 

pain. 
When the life-pulse of the brain, 
In that awful hour of doubt, like a flickering lamp 

goes out. 

Shall identity remain ? 



I50 DAY DREAMS. 

All the sophistry of cant 
Cannot still this human want ; 
For although the preachers rant, 
This age of acquisition will insist on some decision, 
Until reason says, Avaunt ! 

And the sceptic may resolve 
That a microbe can evolve 

The many things that are, from a beetle to a star ; 
That man, and air, and goats are the result of motes, 
As philosophy can solve. 

That even human speech. 
As philosophy can teach, 

Is only inflammation of the molecules of creation, 
Which by their locomotion produces an emotion 
Like sea waves on the beach. 

And the youthful mother's woe. 
When her loved one is laid low. 
Is really nothing more — as hinted at before — 
Than the shaking of a reed, or the fading of a weed 
In the snow. 

And self-deluded man. 
Though strutting in the van, 
Despite his elocution, is but an evolution 
From the monkey that we see grinning on a tree, 
Or the hairy-faced ourang ! 



DA Y DREAMS. 151 

And the thing we call emotion 
Is nothing but a notion, 

And conscience but self-deluding nonsense — 
No more to do with soul than sunlight with the pole, 
Or a dewdrop with the ocean. 

So goes the common prattle 

Of the shallow-pates who rattle 

With their never-ending clatter on the wondrous 

power of matter. 
That has reared the ocean bars, the sun and moon 

and stars, 

With the donkeys and the cattle 

Alas ! alas I alas ! 

As the awful centuries pass, 

Shall the passing race of men, with their threescore 

years and ten. 
With their ever-longing souls, perish like the moles 
'Neath the grass? 

Let scoffers sneer who can, 
With their philosophic plan, — 
The soul will still respond to an endless beyond, 
Where the deathless instincts trend. 
That the tomb is not the end 
Of man ! 



152 DAY DREAMS. 



yV ¥flFE'3 J:iAJVlE]MT. 



No, never more, with thee, 

Shall I stand. 
Listening to the moaning of the sea. 
While thy fond lips are whispering love to me 

Upon the sand. 

No, never more shall come, 

Up from the deep, 
That song the coming tempest sung 
From coral caves while our hearts, so young 

With love, would weep ; 

Or, watching ripples, as they rose and fell 

Upon the sand, 
While I would deck thy ringlets with a shell, 
And hear the echoes of the sea-going bell 

Steal to the land. 

I sit alone upon the rocky shore. 

And hear the wave 
Dashing upon the cliff forever more. 
And think of thee, as the wild breakers roar 

Above thy grave. 

And when the sun comes laughing at the dawn 

Up from the sea. 
And floods the earth with light on hill and lawn, 
I still am watching, with my curtains drawn, 

Weeping for thee. 



DAV DREAMS. 153 

I count the weary moments as they go, 

From day to day ; 
Waiting the hour when this sad heart shall know 
That all its earthly sorrow and its woe 

Has passed away. 

Then we shall live again those early days 

On heaven's glad shore, 
And join the anthem which the blessed raise. 
Blending our love in one grand song of praise 

Forever more ! 



]Fancy. 

I. 

Come, in fancy let us roam 
Where the eagle builds his home. 
Over mountain, hill and glen, 
Far above the haunts of men. 
Where the winds of freedom sigh 
In the deep eternal sky. 
Floating as the clouds may go 
O'er the valleys far below. 
Where the smoke from hamlet fire 
Clouds the mimic village spire, 
And the haze of fading day 
Hides the distant towers away, 
Where the gilded domes arise. 
Gleaming 'neath the evening skies. 



154 DAY DREAMS. 

II. 

Hear the sound of evening bells 
Floating o'er the shady dells, 
And the murmur of the rills 
As they meander from the hills ; 
Hear the skylark as he sings 
Floating on his silver wings, 
Trilling out his soft prelong 
Like a cloud-robed angel's song, 
And ringing in the sunset bars 
Like an anthem from the stars ! 

III. 

See the homes that dot the plain 
Mapped with fields of waving grain, 
Mark the chanticleer's alarm 
Ringing from the red- tiled farm. 
And the shadows that are seen 
Where the milkmaid trips the green, 
As she comes with flowing pail. 
Like a wood nymph of the vale, 
And the boorish-mounted row 
Coming from the fields below. 
Where the waves of sod, laid bare. 
Rolls off from the keen ploughshare- 
Bach a self-embodied force — 
As he sits his naked horse. 
Crooning as he comes along 
Snatches of some ancient song 
That his fathers did encore 
In the stormy days of yore. 



BAY DREAMS. 155 

IV. 

Narrow bounds these lives entail, 
Hardy tillers of the vale, 
Bronzed with many a stormy sun, 
As their rugged race is run. 
Who shall write the hopes and fears 
Crowded in one thousand years, 
As we sweep above the plain. 
And the millions rise again, 
Coming from the nameless heaps 
Where each mouldering atom sleeps? — 
Sleep that evermore o'erwhelms 
'Neath the bulging, rooted elms, 
Where ten thousand winds have sighed 
As the generations died. 

V. 

What a picture here is seen 
Of the races that have been ! — 
Millions crowding mile on mile, 
Ancient tillers of the soil ; 
Grinning specters bent and low. 
Shadows of the long ago. 
Crowding from each ancient glade 
Where their shrouded forms were laid ; 
Tens of thousands moving there, 
In the valleys everywhere — 
Men who wept and men who sung, 
Wrinkled crones and maidens young — 
Men who there did reap and sow 
Twice five hundred years ago ; 



156 BAY DREAMS. 

Eyes that watched the coming dawn, 
Feet that brushed the dew-robed lawn, 
Hands that held the bow and spear 
When the invading foe was near ; 
Shepherds rude who trod the hill, 
And dusty masters of the mill ; 
Hands that spun the flazen hair, 
Hands that forged the rude ploughshare, 
Hands that deigned the flail to wield, 
Hands that led the teams a-field, 
Hands that linked the rings of May, 
Hands that swathed the virgin hay, 
Hands that drew the magic bow 
In the reels of long ago — 
Every age and every grade. 
Every craft and every trade ; 
Sturdy yeomen and their peers 
Who had slept one thousand years. 
What a thought is in the strife 
Of each individual life ? 
Childhood, with its tinsel toys ; 
Boyhood, with its restless joys ; 
Youth, with its illusive dreams ; 
Manhood, with its hopes and schemes ; 
Village clown and village sage, 
Tongueless babe, and babbling age. 
Crowding there from coast to coast, 
A resurrected countless host ; 
Every form and every shade. 
This panorana of the dead. 
Fleeting as the day is done, 
With the swift descending sun, 
Leaving nothing there again 
But the shadows on the plain ! 



DAY DREAMS. 157 



Jhe ^utlaw. 



The pall of night is falling 

Over the land and sea, 
But blacker than the pall of night 

Is the shadow that falls on me, 
The watching stars are lost to sight 

In the clouds that hide them there, 
But the pall that hides my star of hope 

Is the midnight of despair ! 

Like a haunted beast I watch the skies, 

And the breaking clouds I scan. 
And curse the face of the smiling moon, 

That lightens the haunts of man ; 
And loath the breath upon my cheek 

Of the life-restoring air, 
While I hide away in the caves of earth, 

I^ike a wild beast in his lair. 

And in the ghost hours of the night 

I hear the alarm bell, 
And tremble at the blood-red moon, 

That seem the gates of hell ; 
And alone I shake my chains of steel, 

As I crawl where the cliffs are bare. 
But whither I creep my bloodshot eyes 

Sees ghastly phantoms there ! 



158 DAY DREAMS. 

And in delirium of my brain, 

I plunge into the mountain flood, 
But never a flood can wash the hands 

That are red with the stains of blood ! 
The slimy asp and the she- wolf's mate 

Have haunts from danger free. 
But never the serpent's hole can hide 

The pangs of hell from me ! 

An outcast from the haunts of men, 

I dread their vengeance nigh, 
And tremble at the ghost of death. 

While a thousand deaths I die ; 
And in the terrors of the night, 

What specter forms I see ! — 
A halter-rope in every bough, 

And a gibbet on every tree ! 

By roofless walls where dead men sleep, 

'Mong ancient graves I crawl, 
And hide beneath the crumbling slabs, 

With blood upon them all. 
The owl shrieks in the haunted tower. 

The rook in the black pine tree. 
But never a sound from bird and beast 

But rings a knell for me ! 



DAY DREA MS. 159 

In fleeting phantoms of my sleep 

I fly to distant lands, 
But wake with terror in my blood, 

And iron on my hands. 
No rest is mine, in space or time, 

All hope is overthrown ; 
A soul engulphed in blood and crime, 

Where vengeance has its own ! 



^ QuE^TIOjM. 

Who, for fun, or love, or gain. 
Will dissect a bigot's brain, 
I^ay the wondrous organ bare, 
See the little that is there ? — 
Smaller than a mustard seed, 
Cell conception of its creed. 
Incarnation of the soul 
That invests this human mole ; 
Curious freak by Nature made, 
Fungus of a narrow head — 
Nothing left of love to feel, 
Mind of mud and heart of steel, 
Mongrel growth of human kind. 
Every noble instinct blind, 
I^et me ask it once again — 
Who dissects the bigot's brain ? 



l6o DAY DREAMS. 

JhE j^OT WHERE | WyV^ ^^OI^N. 

On a lonely moor a cottage stood, 

Built up with mud and stone, 
Unsheltered by no circling wood ; 
Through Autumn chill and Winter rude 

That cottage stood alone. 

Simple it was ; no spreading roof 

To shade the noonday sun, 
And plain its walls, like honest truth ; 
No traveler there with clashing hoof, 

Or noise of city's hum. 

But its porch was decked with roses sweet, 

lyike jems with a thousand dyes, 
And its chimney rude was wide and deep, 
Where the smoke went up with jolly sweep 
And circled to the skies. 

But years have passed, and now, alas ! 

Its walls are bleak and torn. 
And that porch is green with waving grass ; 
No music there but the winter's blast. 

In that cot where I was born. 

And voices now are ever hushed 

That cheered it long before ; 
And the change of years, like a tempest wished. 
And the dreams of my youth, forever crushed. 

Come back to its haunts once more ! 



BAY DREAMS. l6l 



j]0R/BEL. 



I. 

Tell my story ? Briefly, yes, 
If you have an hour or so ; 
But, my friend, remember this — 
It's a tale of long ago ; 
Yet its memory comes to me, 
Looking backward through the strife, 
Ivike an island in the sea. 
The one green oasis in my life. 
I need not tell the time or place, 
Because from memory I retrace ; 
Nor do I care to write it down. 
The nearest church, or nearest town. 
Enough, my friend, this fact for you — 
The simple narrative is true. 

Besides, I know the month was June, 

And I recall — the sky 

Was cloudless all that afternoon. 

Because those memories seldom die. 

II. 

Imagine next, a country road, 
Through rural regions seldom trod ; 
No human home for many a mile, 
Crossed by no path or rustic stile ; 
The only fact, to fix it strong, 
The recollection — it was long. 



l62 DAY DREAMS. 

I see you stare, 

And say, how strange, 

What took me there ? — 

The love of change; 
Or rather, say, the love of woods, 
The leafy groves, the solitudes, 
To paint the beauty of the vales 
Where sunbeams glow and shadows pales. 
Or sketch the hills that loom apart : — 
I need not say my trade is Art. 

III. 
Yes, there it hangs upon the wall. 
My pallet, with the easel near. 
The canvass stool, the polished mahlj 
And these are sketches scattered here 
Yes, that's the canvass hanging there — 
The same sweet face, the raven hair. 
The fine arched brow, the Grecian nose. 
And lips the color of the rose. 
With eyes that glow like stars in June, 
I sketched that summer afternoon. 
But why repeat 
Scenes dead and gone? — 
I sowed the wheat, 
And tares have grown : 
So let us take the road again. 
You know that I was younger then, 
And though the winding way was long. 
My heart was free, my limbs were strong. 
And every nook and dell I passed 
I fancied richer than the last. 



DA Y DREAMS. 163 

IV. 

Flower after flower, 

Stone after stone, 

I sketched, as hour on hour 

Went on ; 
No hamlet passed, nor whitened farm, 
No watchdog's bark, nor crowed alarm. 
No human speech upon the air. 
To break the voiceless silence there, 
But every vale along the road 
Was still as when it came from God ; 

Sometimes the grass 

Was rich with fern. 

Next I would pass 

A moss-clad cairn, 
Or a broken wall would flank the road. 
When winding round some meadow broad, 
Or passing through some hidden nook, 
I caught the murmur of a brook ; 
While every brake and every tree 
Was like a poet's dream for me. 

V. 

And as I roam, 

No thought have 1 

Of shadows long 

Or evening sky. 
Nor care I where the pathway leads 
Through trackless woods, or broken meads : 
Enough, the valleys stretch away 
On to the curtains of the day, 
And when the sun shall sink afar, 
My guide shall be the evening star. 



l64 DAY DREAMS. 

VI. 

But sudden, here, 

My dream is broke, 

For rising near, 

The light blue smoke 
Floats upwards to the cloudless blue 
From cottage chimney, breaking through 
The green-robed grove of ancient trees, 
Like incense on the evening breeze ; 
With lawn and garden side by side — 
The whole might be an acre wide ; 

And the red-tiled roof, 

Half hid with leaves. 

Where the iv}^ woof 

Hung from the eaves. 
Yes, there it is, that sketch of mine, 
But nothing to that scene divine : 
All other memories may decay, 
That scene no pencil can portray ; 
Yet it shall live in memory's core, 
A dream of beauty evermore ! 

VII. 

There is, you know, 

In every life, 

An ebb and flow 

Of peace and strife ; 
An hour that deep in memory lies, 
A scene or name that never dies ; 
A hidden power we cannot rate. 
That shapes our ends or rules our fate. 



DA Y DREAMS. 165 

May sound our weal or wring our knell, 
The why and wherefore, who can tell ? 

A grain of sand 

Where currents quiver 

May rear the strand 

To change a river ; 
A whisper breathed on echo's sea 
May shake the Alpine thunders free ; 
A silent throught in coming years 
May change the creed of hemispheres : 
Our darkest day, when morning rose, 
May be our greatest at its close. 

So there, alone midst Nature's art, 

Beneath the evening sky, 

A scene was graven on my heart 

That never was to die. 

VIII. 

For while, with pallet in my hand, 
Close by the garden wall I stand, 

And sketch that rustic home, 
The shadows lengthen from the hills, 
While golden gleams of sunset fills 

The twilight's burnished dome. 
And through the broken, leafy woof 
I catch the shadows of the roof, 
Or window hid, where creepers run, 
Reflecting still the setting sun. 

But while I watch with hand and eye 

The shadows as they pass. 

No thought of human step have I 

That moves across the grass, 



1 66 DAY DREAMS. 

Until I see a shadow fall 
Across the coping of the wall, 

That moves out from the shade : 
And well I mark, with hasty stare. 
The hearty smile that greets me there, 
The noble face, with silver hair 

That crowns the Grecian head ; 
And as he nears my easel stand 
He meets me with an open hand, 
And with the brotherhood of art, 
I take the stranger to my heart. 
And well might I, for well he knew 
The master touch, the whole 
Of broken shade and color true 
That gives the picture soul. 
For oft the magic of his hands 
Had sent his name to other lands. 

And in his native State 
His brow had known the victor's crown, 
And far beyond his parent town 
His early works were handed down 

As gems of younger date ; 
And all throughout his riper years 
He stood the master 'mong his peers, 
And still might held the magic wand 
Had sudden shock not dulled his hand. 
Now here, remote from rival strife. 
With daughter of his heart, 
He spends the evening of his life 
Midst Nature's boundless art. 
He greets me as a brother greets 
The long-lost brother whom he meets, 



DAYDREAMS. 167 

And like an ancient knight, he pressed 
That I my journe}^ should delay ; 
The sun was low, long was the way, 
And begged me, for one Summer day, 

To be his honored guest ; 
And surely here, you, too, will say, 
'Twere hard to blunt such courtesy. 

IX. 

'Twere vain to dwell on that brief scene : 

Enough to say, his will is mine ; 
I felt as if, awake, I dream, 

And have no thought of space or time. 
But follow where he leads, till he 
His daughter calls to welcome me ; 

And from a hidden bower there comes 
A woman's form — so fresh, so fair. 
That sunset rays upon her hair 
Reflect their fading lustre there, 

As if a thousand suns 
Had flashed their light athwart the sky, 
And every flower had caught the dye. 
While bud and leaf held breath awhile, 
To clothe their glory with her smile ; 
Or like the beams of early day. 
That flash the fading stars away ! 

There comes to every child of earth 
A moment true, in peace or strife — 
The centre hour 'twixt death and life — 

When first the human soul has birth ; 
And this brief moment wakes for me 
A pulse of life ne'er known before. 
And sets the wings of fancy free. 
To thrill my heart with love's encore. 



i68 DA V DREAMS. 

X. 

For I have roamed in many a land, 
O'er tropic isles and desert sand, 

Where earth's fair daughters dwell 
Midst princely treasures, rich and rare, 
But never since on earth or air 
Have seen a human face so fair 

As this fair Corabel. 
Her lips like dew-robed buds of Spring, 
Her hair like jet of raven's wing, 
And the soft lustre of her eyes 
Was like the dreamy tropic skies. 
For as she left the bower's enshrine 
She seemed a creature half divine. 

XI. 

' ' My daughter ! this Sir Cavalier, 

Knight of the brush and mahl. 
Has deigned to taste our frugal cheer 

And grace our rural hall." 
This said in jest. With queenly air 
She smiles a maiden's welcome there, 
And from the clusters in her hand 
She plucks a rosebud free : 
* ' This bud, Sir Knight, shall be the wand 
Wherewith we welcome thee." 
Then turning from a scene so gay 
Her laughing father leads the way ; 

And while night's shadows fall 
We enter in the fading light, 
Daughter and sire, while I, "Sir Knight," 

Still wonder at it all. 



DA Y DREAMS. 169 



XII. 



The lamps are lit by dusky hands 

In the last gleams of day, 

And old Aunt Susan smiling stands 

With ready cup and tray ; 

While at the board, arranged for three, 

A welcome chair is placed for me ; 

And though one hour before 
We had not known each others' face, 
Nor had I dreamt of such a place 

For ten long miles or more ; 
And yet with me 'twere hard to tell 
The thoughts that in my bosom swell, 
While I gaze at fair Corabel. 
"But Art was broad as life," said he, 
And Art to him was guarantee 
That only he, with instincts fine. 
Dare render homage at her shrine ; 
And while her sacred temple stood, 
Her sons should be one brotherhood. 

XIII. 

How swift that evening passed away 
'Twere hardly meet for me to say ; 

'Twere easier guessed than told 
How well he talked of song and art ; 
And while his daughter held her part. 
The fleeting hours seemed to my heart 

Like moments winged with gold ! 
The picture gems upon the wall, 
The classic vase, the bracket small. 



lyo DAY DREAMS. 

With gilded frieze that balanced all, 

Revealed the master hand ; 
While not a shadow intervened 
To break the spell, that to me seemed 

A dream of fairy land ; 
While round the trellised casement bars 
The clustering roses caught the light, 
And crowning all were countless stars, 
That gemmed that peerless summer night. 

XIV. 

"Come now, my daughter," said the sire, 
"Go bring your lute, and wake the lyre, 

And cheer us with a song 
Of feudal strife or ancient crest, 
Or lonely maid, with love opprest. 
I fear, my child, our youthful guest 

Has found this evening long ; 
For well I know as pen can tell 
'Tis little else than hermit's cell. 
And when compared with city's throng 
Our briefest moments must seem long." 
Then as he ceased she touched the strings, 
And in that home, remote and still, 
So deep and clear her music rings 
As makes the forest leaves to thrill. 
And grander was that song to me 
Than oratorio's wild refrain. 
Or wind-blown anthems from the sea, 
To touch the chords of youth again ; 
And while the forest echoes rung, 
This song: of fatherland she sung: : 



DAY DREAMS. 171 

XV. 

''Land of the stars, dear fatherland, 
Land of the prairie, broad and free ! 
Let others sing of empires grand, 
I sing, my native land, of thee ! 
Land of the forest's boundless shade, 
That crowns the Andes' rocky bars ; 
Land of the canyon's wild cascade 
And cloudless peaks that kiss the stars ; 
Land where the song of freedom rings 
The star-robed anthem of the free, 
Far as the eagle spreads his wings 
O'er regions boundless as the sea, 
Columbia dear, Star of the West, 

My latest sigh shall be for thee ; 
Land where no tyrant's foot shall rest, 

Home of the millions yet to be ! " 

XVI. 

She ceased, and every sound was still 
That with her pealing notes had rung. 
While bud and leaf had felt the thrill. 
As if an angel's lips had sung ; 
And deeper seemed the breath of night, 
As if a soul had winged its flight 

In those last fading bars, 
Or, wafted with the semitone. 
The spirit of the night had gone 

To whisper with the stars ! 

And once again she touched the strings. 
And with a deeper note she sings 



172 DAY DREAMS. 

This pealing, wild farewell — 
As if an echo from the sea 
Was ringing o'er the billows free 

A passing spirit's knell. 

XVII. 
SONG. 

Farewell ! farewell ! my native shore, 

My bark is on the sea, 
And on the gathering tempest's roar 

I send farewell to thee ! 
Chorus — Farewell ! farewell ! farewell ! 

The billows ring our parting knell ; 
My native land, farewell ! farewell ! 

The tempest hides the evening star, 
The waves dash on the strand. 

And breakers thunder on the bar ; 
Farewell, my native land ! 

Chorus — Farewell ! etc. 

Above the rolling of the deep 

I hear the midnight bell 
Re-echo where the billows sweep ; 

My native land, farewell ! 

Chorus — Farewell ! etc. 

The thunder shakes the starless skies 

Beyond my native dell. 
And on the shore the night wind sighs ; 

My native land, farewell ! 
Chorus — Farewell ! farewell ! farewell ! 

The tempest rings our parting knell 
My native land, farewell ! farewell ! 



DA V DREAMS. 173 



XVIII. 



She ceased again, and echo's swell 
Seemed to repeat her wild farewell ; 
While in the night-robed shadows gray 
The last faint whisper dies away, 
And save the crickets' soft refrain, 
All round that home is hushed again. ' 

XIX. 

'Tis midnight now : one hour before, 

Led by the taper light. 
He leaves me at my chamber door 

With one long, blest "Good night! 
And in its silence there, unsought, 
I ponder what the day has brought — 

A life-dream in an hour. 
The past to memory seems estranged. 
As if a thousand years had ranged. 
Or some mysterious power had changed 

A desert for a bowser ; 
While not a breath the silence jars, 
I stand behind my curtain bars 
And watch the midnight millioned stars 

That gem the dome above. 
My throbbing heart with rapture beats, 
While every living pulse repeats 

My first wild thrill of love 1 
All dreams of childhood gone before 
Are fading echoes from the shore 

Of some lost Summer day ; 



174 DAYDREAMS. 

The future seems a mirror vast, 
Where fleeting visions are recast, 
And cherished idols of the past 
Are now but things of clay ! 

XX. 

And when all hushed in silence deep 
Bach throbbing pulse is stilled in sleep, 
Those fleeting phantoms of my brain 
Are in my dreams renewed again, 

With visions strange and new : — 
Within a forest's boundless shade 
I wander where all sounds are laid 
A thousand leagues away. 
Where not a breath of Summer ray 

Can break the foliage through ; 
The sunless grass beneath my feet 
Is there forever to repeat 
The boundless leagues behind, 
While not an echo breaks the gloom. 
As if that forest were a tomb 
With life and death combined. 
Again : Upon a cloud-wove car 
I wander to the evening star, 

Through endless seas of gold. 
And view the boundless realms of night, 
Where countless suns of systems light 

The vastness there unrolled. 
Again : Upon the silver shore 
I hear the rippling waves encore 

An anthem of the sea. 
While far below the billows' sweep, 
Through coral caverns of the deep, 

Fair Cora roams with me. 



DAY DREAMS. 175 



XXI. 



I wake : 'tis dawn ; upon the hills 

The first faint gleam of morning thrills, 

And night's last shadows fade away 

Before the coming breath of day, 

And o'er the distant peaks afar 

I see the lessening morning star. 

While night's vast curtain is unrolled 

From Orient seas of burnished gold. 

And rising from the serial plain 

Aurora spreads her wings again ; 

While lingering night vStill holds her sway 

Between the twilight and the day. 

And voiceless silence reigns supreme, 

As beauty holds her waking dream ; 

While hushed is every breath of strife, 

As if it were the dawn of life. 

I see the the curtain higher rise 

With broadening light and vaster skies, 

To flood the meads, o'er vale and lawn. 

As if it were Creation's dawn 

Now breaking on the voiceless air. 

The first faint note is whispered there. 

Soft as the lover's virgin kiss. 

That thrills the soul with speechless bliss. 

Or like the distant brooklet's sigh. 

From wind-blown glades, where echoes die ; 

And stealing far, through brake and grote, 

Bach native songster thrills his note, 

Till every bower and covert near 

Repeats this harp of Nature clear ; 



176 DAYDREAMS. 

Now fades the dewdrop on the flower. 
Now opes the bud in hidden bower, 
Now glows the crystal of the spring, 
In leafy nooks where coverts ring; 
Now glow the mountains far away, 
To hail the birth hour of the day. 
While distant hills and valleys broad 
Thrill with this living pulse of God. 



XXII. • 

I leave my chamber, passing through 
'Neath trellised porch and flower, 
And o'er the pearled paths of dew 
I seek the shady bower ; 
And in the dreamy bliss of morn 
I pluck the rosebud from the thorn, 

And for one silent hour 
I pass these moments in review, 
And wonder at this passion new 

That thrills me with its power. 
But yester-dawn, fresh as the sea, 
My hand was light, my heart was free ; 
From common earth I breathed apart. 
My dream was Fame, my love was Art, 
And every glimpse of earth and sky 
Revealed new treasures to my eye ; 
While 'neath the stars I swore it true, 
This pledge for life (and meant it, too)- 
That Art alone my heart should woo. 



DA V DREAMS. 177 

How changed is every sense since then ! 
How changed my heart, how changed my brain ! 
How changed seems old familiar scenes ! 
How changed the vision of my dreams? 
And changed seems every pulse of life, 
From cloudless skies to restless strife ! 



XXIII. 

Back through the garden wall again 

I enter from the wood-lawn bowers, 

And hear the forest's soft refrain, 

With hum of bee and scent of flowers ; 

While all around the morning's gleam 

Seems fairer than a poet's dream. 

I sit in Cora's bower enchained, 

'Neath clustering buds her hands have trained. 

And in the silence there, serene, 

I picture what her youth had been — 

The golden dawn, the cloudless noon, 

The twilight shades, the silver moon. 

The Summer sky's eternal blue. 

The loves her youthful bosom knew. 

I bless the shades her voice has blest, 

And kiss the buds her lips have kissed ; 

And while I dream those fancies o'er 

I feel a thrill unknown before — 

As if the past might be forgot. 

And life had touched a deeper note. 



lyS DAY DREAMS. 



XXIV. 

'Tis well. Those years that lie beyond 
The present moments that we see 
Are hidden by the eternal bond 
That seals the future yet to be. 
'Tis well our sorrows are entombed 
While yet our youthful hearts are free, 
And brooding ills yet unrevealed 
Are in the womb of time concealed. 
For though the dawn may crown the day 
With boundless fields of burnished gold, 
Before pale night has passed away 
The gathering storm may be unrolled. 
And pleasure's morn may speed its ray, 
To sink ere noon in Arctic cold. 
And to the brow fame's wreath adorns 
An hour may bring a crown of thorns. 

XXV. 

I entered in that morning bower 
Enthralled with love's mysterious power ; 
I leave it ere an hour had flown. 
With all its thrilling rapture gone ; 
And that brief vision of a day 
lyike morning dew has passed away ; 
Or like the bees on Summer's air, 
That leave their dying echoes there, 
Or like the bough of bud bereft, 
When flower is gone and thorn is left. 



DAY DREAMS. 



XXVI. 



179 



My genial host sits with me there, 
While thrills the living morning air 

With Nature's ringing lay, 
That comes from covert, brake and fen, 
Repeating soft from vale and glen 

Hymns of the new-born day, 
And every nook on hill and plain 
Rings with the thrill of life again. 
The curling smoke from chimney nigh 
Floats upward to the glowing sky, 
And broken lights steal through the leaves 
That cluster round the spreading eaves ; 
And while fair Cora's voice I hear 
Come from the open casement near, 
I start as if that morning note 
Had thrilled a chord of youth forgot. 

And in its soft prelong 
A harp retouched, now long unstrung. 
Recalls the sound of lips that sung 

My mother's cradle song ; 
And while the melting notes I hear, 
I scarce can hide the gathering tear. 
From he who watches, sitting near ; 
But little recked I what he thought 
Of all that Summer night had brought, 
Till in that silent arbor he 
This tale of wonder told to me : — 



l8o DA V DREAMS. 



XXVII. 



" 'Tis forty Summers, less or more — 

My years then numbered just one score ; 

'Tis half a life, yet I might say 

To me it seems but yesterday, 

As backward, through long years of strife, 

I view that Summer of my life. 

That in my heart has ever been 

An oasis there forever green. 

'Twas by the sea, where waves encore 

The echoes of New England's shore, 

'Neath towering cliffs, where ocean tossed 

His thunders on her iron coast, 

Where smiling valleys crown her strand 

With broken meads and drifted sand, 

And bounding summits far apart 

Wall in this paradise of art. 

Here we could dream life's hours away 

Without a thought of fleeting day, 

And dreaming still, might never feel 

That earth was earth, or life was real. 

Here from the city's crowded mart 

We worshiped at the shrine of art — 

Twin students, yet our future aim 

Of equal years our dreams the same, 

To woo the fickle goddess Fame, 

And not a shade or breath we knew 

On earth or air to make us two, 

While head and heart and hand were true. 

The distant hills, the green-robed lawn, 

The setting sun, the glowing dawn, 



DAY DREAMS. l8l 

The blue-arched noon, the star- robed night, 
The blending miracle of light 
That o'er the landscape flashed and came 
Thrilled in our hearts one chord the same ; 
And yet our art on canvass free 
Was wide as wide apart could be ; 
Repeating thus with shade and line 
This lesson true, this truth divine — 
That unity of soul is vain ; 
'Twas ever so, and must remain. 

XXVIII. 

"Here we had been one month or more, 

From hum of cities free. 
Our canvass home upon the shore. 

Where outward to the sea 
The walls of granite broke away, 
And showed the wide expanding bay 
On to the fading line of graj^, 
With passing sails from day to day 
That vanished on the sky, 
While we could hear the waves repeat 
Their Summer anthem at our feet — 
Blend with the seabird's cry ; 
No human sound to mar our glee 

As life's glad moments ran. 
While every throbbing pulse was free 

As prehistoric man. 
Our vintage from the brook was stilled, 
And rod and line our larder filled. 
While not a thought had he or I, 
While dreaming 'neath that Summer sky, 
That passion's thunderbolt was nigh. 



l82 DAY DREAMS. 



XXIX. 



" 'Twas noonday silence everywhere, 
No human sound on earth or air ; 
The sea beneath, the cloudless gleam 
Was placid as a lover's dream, 
Or slumbering babe when laid to rest 
Upon its youthful mother's breast, 
Or morning dew where lilies bloom 
Upon a nameless infant's tomb, 
And glowed in beauty calm and deep, 
As if its depths were hushed in sleep. 
But hark ! that muffled peal afar 

Beyond the granite wall, 
And riding on its thunder car 
The tempest rolling o'er the bar 

Hides ocean in its pall ; 
While sudden as an eye can flash 
We hear the pealing thunder crash. 
As if the skies might fall, 
And rushing with his mantle dun 
Tlie cloud-wrapped tempest hides the sun 

And floods the wondering rills ; 
While louder than the ocean's roar 
The pealing thunder rends the shore 
And shakes the distant hills. 
Hark ! There ! above the tempest swell, 
Did you not hear that ringing yell 

Re-echo on the shore? 
We listen till it rings again 
Across that wild tumultuous plain — 



DA V DREAMS. 183 

A human shriek for succor vain, 

Thrice louder than before ! 
And bounding from the trembling strand, 
We rush across the deluged sand. 
And from the shelter of the cliff 
We tear our good seaworthy skiff, 
And though it soon might be our grave, 
We launch it there upon the wave, 
And bounding from the boiling shore, 
We fearless ply the ready oar 
With willing hearts and pulses full, 
As if it were old Harvard's pull 
Or we but truants from the school. 

XXX. 

*'But why should I recall that scene. 

Whose terrors yet might chill your breath, 

Or picture what the end had been. 

In that imperilled hour of death ? — 

For had we perished in the gale, 

Then you had never heard this tale. 

Enough that we regain the shore, 

Our keel grates on the sands once more ; 

But not alone : for from the wreck. 

Clutching a fragment of the deck. 

We snatch a sinking lifeless form — 

The sole survivor of the storm : 

A speechless thing of beauty she, 

Saved from the swift returning sea. 

Safe on the shore, with ready hands 

We haste across the deluged sands, 



l84 DA Y DREAMS. 

And, sheltered from the ocean's strife, 

We try to wake the harp of hfe ; 

But though the struggle long seemed vain, 

At last her bosom throbs again, 

And life returns with measured sighs, 

That flashes in her opening eyes. 

While flushing cheek and coming breath 

Proclaim life's triumph over death ! 

And as fond memory lends its gleam. 

She wakes as from a fleeting dream, 

And with the sense of light and sound. 

In silent wonder gazes round ; 

While we gaze on in mute surprise. 

And watch the life-flood of her eyes, 

That flash their rays beneath the fold 

Of tress that glows like burnished gold. 

While lost in silent wonder we 

Survey this creature from the sea^ — 

As if the waves had given birth 

To thing of life too fair for earth. 

But why should words that tale unfold ? — 

'Twere surely easier guessed than told ; 

Needs little aid from fancy lent 

To paint the scene within that tent — 

That hour when beauty wakes to weep, 

Then sinks again in restless sleep. 

Enough to say, that womens' aid, 

Brought from the farm in neighboring glade. 

Is there, to tend the slumbering maid. 

Until from broken dreams of pain 

She wakes to life and health again ! " 



DA V DREAMS. 185 



XXXI. 



He paused, as if the touching tale 
Had woke a chord within his breast ; 
And while his throbbing brow he prest, 
With voice that seemed too frail, 
He whispered wildly, may you know, 
The Name that yet recalls my woe — 
' ' And he, who lived to be my foe, 

That late had been a brother ! 
Alas ! my son, you may not guess — 
It seems but madness to confess — 

That she should be your mother ! 

' ' My tale is all but ended here, 

To you its sequel must be clear. 

And from its trend you now can see — 

Husband and sire, alas ! was he, 

Who won that pearl of the sea. 

But left its memory still with me ! 

For from that hour we bore her form 

Out from the perils of the storm. 

We, from the brotherhood of art. 

Became death rivals for her heart, 

Until our paths led wide apart. 

You know the rest : Those parents gone. 

Your struggles with your art alone. 

But yet no passion lives with me ; 

We wooed her both — her choice was he ; 

And as the prize was fairly won, 

I, for their memory, love their son." 



l86 DA V DREAMS. 



XXXII. 



He paused awhile, and lingered here, 

As from his eye he dashed a tear, 

And ere his lips essayed to speak. 

He pressed them on my burning cheek. 

"You now can see," he turned to say, 

"My hasty rudeness yesterday 

Was but a thrill from memory's lay ; 

For hidden there within the shade 
I saw your shadow on the grass. 
And felt a thousand visions pass 
Like drifting clouds o'er Summer skies, 
Whose recollection seldom dies. 

Or fleeting forms that never fade 
Throughout the night of passing years, 
While memory lives and hope endears ; 
And though unknown, affection knew 
Your presence to that vision true ; 
For ere my steps the path had won, 
I traced the sire and knew the son. 
And now, before we part again, 
Let not our meeting here be vain. 
But from this hour let hand and heart 
Lead on to triumphs of your art ; 
And in this silence swear it here. 
By soul of those we both revere, 
No other passion shall control 
The life-long worship of your soul. 
Till you have reached the deathless goal ? 



DAY DREAMS. 187 



XXXIII. 



** To-morrow's sun may find you gone 
Back to the crowd, but not alone ; 
For by these skies I too shall swear 
From this hour hence my daily prayer 
Shall be to keep this purpose true — 
As second sire to live for you ; 
And though no more my hand can trace 
The fading cloud or living face, 
Yet every dawn that gilds the sea 
And every shadow on the lea 
Shall hold a sacred shrine for me, 
Nor art desert this quivering eye 
Till life shall cease and soul shall die. 
And now, removed from passions rude. 
With her, wife of my solitude. 
Resigned I live, content to die. 
Unknown, beneath mj^ native sky." 

XXXIV. 

His wife ! How wild my pulses beat ! 
His wife ! once more his lips repeat ; 
His wife ! his child of yesterday ! 
My burning cheeks my lips betray. 
And with my throbbing bosom bare 
Within that bower I swear it there ; 
Too proud in passion's hour to yield, 
I vow the oath, the bond is sealed, 
And that wild dream of Corabel 
Has vanished like a passing knell. 
Or echo from the distant shore, 
That, fleeting once, is heard no more ! 



l88 DAYDREAMS. 



XXXV. 



'Tis dawn ! Another night has past, 
The second in that home — the last 
That e'er through fortune's changing woof 
My head shall know beneath its roof; 
Yet through the years where'er I roam 
My heart shall venerate that home ; 
Its kindly hearth shall be the theme 
Of many a dark enshrouded dream, 
When oft its shrine my heart shall seek 
When clouded sorrows pale my cheek. 

There are life moments in the soul 
That live beyond the fleeting years, 
And glow like stars through pain and tears, 
That seem the center points of life 
To cheer us on through trials and strife, 

True as the needle to the pole ; 
And this shall be a star for me, 
The beacon light of years to be. 

XXXVI. 

Last eve, before the midnight bell, 

My host had said his sad farewell, 

And early as his mate withdrew, 

She took my hand, and breathed it too ; 

And while we sit alone he traced 

My future pathway, that embraced 

A purpose new, a self-control. 

To win the wreath that crowns the goal. 



\DA V DREAMS. 



XXXVII. 



All sounds are still ; the night is gone ; 

I leave my sleepless couch alone, 

And through that hall, all hushed as death, 

With silent feet and silent breath 

I seek the night inclosing door, 

Whose threshold I shall cross no more. 

'Tis strange ! I find that door ajar ; 

The light steals through the tressel bar, 

And as I reach the morning air 

A silent form is waiting there. 

Beneath the bower's enshrouding tree, 

Where she had plucked that bud for me, 

When first I gazed with raptures wild 

On her, his wife, that day his child ! 

I start ! Beneath the dawning ray, 

Too clear for night, too dark for day. 

And through the deeper shades of green 

I try to trace that face unseen. 

But soon I know that form too well — 

'Tis she — the now lost Corabel ! 

No words can e'er depict that scene — 

Fond moment of my life supreme — 

As standing there with throbbing heart. 

Our lips so near, our lives apart. 

Yet silent as the clusters fair, 

That all but mingled with her hair. 

And ripple in the morning air. 



igo BAV DREAMS. 



XXXVIII. 



She moves, while I in silence stand, 

And reaches out her muffled hand. 

"Take this," she says, in whispers low 

"What's sealed within you cannot know, 

Nor break its seal by night or day, 

Till ten long years have passed away ; 

Then, if you still have heart to feel, 

Remember me, and break its seal : 

Then if your worship still be true. 

The sequel will remain with you. 

So pledge it here within this bower, 

Ten years to-day, date from this hour." 

She paused, and stood in silence there ; 

I raised my trembling hand to swear. 

"Swear not," she said; "the day may come 

When you may wish this oath undone." 

"I swear," I said, "by yonder star, 

And yonder blushing dawn afar, 

That I shall keep this bond with thee 

By night, by day, by land or sea." 

" 'Tis done," she cried; "a long adieu: 

This heart will keep its bond with you ! ' ' 

Then, with a step as light as air. 

She stepped within, and left me there. 

XXXIX. 

'Tis noon, and from the distant hill 
I watch the far-off landscape still, 
Still trace the roof beyond the lawn 
Where I had left my heart at dawn. 



DAY DREAMS. 191 

And while I gaze beyond the plain 

Those fleeting hours steal back again, 

And visions of the yet to be 

Flits there in fancy's dream for me, 

As if some strange, mysterious power 

Had linked me with that sacred bower — 

The noble host, the mistress fair, 

The pledge to both that bound me there ; 

The mystery of those years to run. 

The victor's wreath my hands must win. 

All crowded on me as I stood 

And gazed o'er leagues of solitude. 

But once again my belt is swung, 

My limbs are strong, my heart is young, 

And soon the valleys fade away 

In coming eve and twilight gray, 

While life begins a new-born day, 

As half forgotten, far apart, 

I mingle in the crowded mart, 

Where with the student's hopes and fears 

I dream of fame in coming years. 

XL. * 

The scene is changed. Those years are past 
That doomed me to a long exile. 
Through hours of dread and 3^ears of toil 
In ancient schools of other lands. 
With busy brain and willing hands. 
Hoping the goal to reach at last. 
What hours of dread, what nights of thought, 
Has led me to the prize I sought ; 



192 DAY DREAMS. 

What triumphs here, what failures there, 
What inspirations, what despair, 
What dreams of madness and renown, 
Has won for me the victor's crown ! 

XLI. 

The goal is reached, the wreath is mine. 
My name goes out to every clime ; 
And as the fleeting seasons run 
Both fame and fortune I have won ; 
Have roamed the vales of Albion green, 
And shores of noble Greece have seen ; 
Have stood beneath the ruined domes 
Of ancient Asia's perished homes ; 
Have dreamt on Italy's golden strand. 
And seen the art of every land ; 
Gazed at her Titian's magic glow. 
And wonder dreams of Angelo ; 
And now, alone, from sun to sun 
I wait ; the years are all but run — 
The ten long years held by that seal. 
That, broken once, was to reveal 
The mystery of my early oath 
And youthful Cora's plighted troth. 

XIvII. 

'Tis classic Rome. The time is dawn ; 
I watch the light with curtains drawn— 
The light that ushers in the day 
When those ten years have rolled away. 



DA Y DREAMS. jg^ 



Now breaks the hour that will reveal 
The mystery held beneath this seal ; 
And waiting for the dawn I stand, 
The long-kept letter in my hand ; 
And as the note of morning chimes, 
I break the seal, and read these lines : 

' ' If thou canst feel thy heart still true 
To her 3^ou met ten years to-day — 
No matter where your steps may stray — 

That virgin heart still waits for you. 
Perhaps my trust I have beguiled, 
By calling wife who was my child ; 
But by the time you break this seal, 
Methinks your riper heart will feel 
That all was done for thy own weal. 
I add no more. God strengthen thee, 
To find the heart that still is free ! ' ' 

XIvIII. 

With burning lips I read this through — 
" That virgin heart still waits for you ; " — 
That virgin love of youth's fair hour, 
That hand I held in that fair bower, 
That form whose memory still endears, 
Shrined in my heart through all these years- 
The only love I ever knew — 
And now, a thousand leagues away. 
Will she be waiting there to-day ? 
Or with her heart still throbbing true, 
Can she have watched this moment too? 



194 ^^ y DREAMS. 

'Tis done ! Beneath the morning star, 

With burning lips the oath is sworn, 

That e'er another day is born 

My steps shall haste to her afar. 

I leave as twilight's shadows fall 

Shades of the mighty capital, 

Its ruined domes and crumbling rust, 

That hold its mighty Caesar's dust, 

And hurrying to my fatherland, 

I leave proud Albion's rugged strand ; 

And soon where ocean billows beat, 

I tread the deck with tireless feet. 

And watch each setting sunset glow. 

And count the leagues, that seem too slow. 

Now at the dawn, from shaded deck, 

I watch the far horizon speck ; 

What shore may be yon rising strand? — 

It is, it is my native land ! 

That glows beneath the rising sun — 

The star-robed land of Washington ! 

XI.IV. 

And once upon its shores again, 
I hasten on to old Champlain, 
And tread the paths I roamed of old. 
Through brake and dell and pathless wood. 
Midst Nature's wildest solitude. 
Treading its meads of russet gold. 
And searching wooded glen and plain, 
To find that long-lost home again. 



DAYDREAMS. 195 

By shaded crystal brook I rest, 

With passions raging in my breast — 

Hope in my heart, dread in my brain, 

That all my restless haste is vain, 

That I may find those hearts of yore 

Through changing years are there no more. 

While other songs may ring its mirth, 

And other hearts surround its hearth, 

While darker fears my heart oppressed, 

Perhaps the whole may prove a jest — 

A freak, to lead my thoughts away 

From that wild passion of a day, 

That long before those ten years sped 

I was forgot, and Cora wed ! 

Thus all these fears my heart surveyed. 

As through the pathless wilds I strayed, 

Hope glowing like the noonday sun, 

And shaded ere an hour had run ; 

Bach wild emotion in its sphere. 

Alternate hope, then dread and fear. 

I leave the shade for open meads. 

On where a winding pathway leads 

Across the rolling dells of green, 

To where a deeper shade is seen. 

The sun is in the western sky, 

And the deep shadows longer grow, 

Where the glad Summer breezes sigh 

In green-robed valleys far below, 

While wild flowers bloom with endless hue 

Beneath the skies of cloudless blue, 



196 DAY DREAMS. 

And whispering echoes bless my ears, 
Like voices from the perished years. 
'Tis there ! Beyond yon ancient tree 
The whole surroundings crowd on me- 
The rustic gate, the moss-grown wall. 
The garden bowers — I know them all. 
With circling smoke ascending slow, 
Just as it rose ten years ago. 



XLV. 

With beating heart I pass the gate — 
One moment more will seal my fate — 
Walk up the graveled pathway slow, 
Where endless Summer roses blow, 
And feeling that one moment more 
Will bring me to the welcome door. 
I pause before that sacred bower. 
And there recall that parting hour. 
I start ! my senses lose their power. 
My bosom heaves, my eyes grow dim — 
Oh God ! oh God ! can this be him, 
With wasted cheek and silver hair, 
That stands within to greet me there ? 
That bending form I well might know — 
'Tis he — my host of long ago ; — 
The same fond eye, the same proud head. 
Save winter frost of that decade. 
Whose passing years had left their trace 
In furrows on that noble face. 



BAY DREAMS. 197 

Within that ancient bower we stand, 
There face to face and hand in hand ; 
Our throbbing bosoms feel the thrill 
Too strong for words, our lips are still ; 
Bach feeling in that hour intense 
That silence were best eloquence. 



XLVI. 

In every life there is enrolled 
Moments that better are untold — 
Moments intense to mortals given — 
Too pure for earth, too soon for heaven- 
The promise of that yet to be 
That only angel's eye might see. 
'Twas such a moment held us there 
Beneath the clustering roses fair. 
As he, with broken words and tears, 
Retold his passing hopes and fears — 
Full measure of those bonded years. 
But hark ! a form is on the lawn, 
A shadow comes, with footstep slow — 
A shadow that full well I know. 
With passions wild my pulses swell — 
'Tis she ! the long-loved Corabel ! 
The full-blown rose of that far dawn. 
As time the severed heart endears, 
She fairer seems for added years. 
Where is the eye that has not seen 
The early bud in pristine green, 



198 DAY DREAMS. 

And marked the change from dawn till noon. 

When it was blushing in full bloom? 

Or seen the shrouded moon arise 

Up from the clouded eastern skies, 

And reveled in its golden light, 

That filled the star-robed vault of night ; 

Or seen the rough unpolished wart 

Contrasted with the gem of art ; 

Now as she moves she fairer seems 

Than cherished idol of my dreams ! 

XLVII. 

Another night has rung its chime 
Upon the eternal page of time ; 
Another night of love and joy — 
The third beneath that welcome roof, 
That changing years will not destroy. 
As fate weaves on life's closing woof, 
Another hears our wedding chime 
Within that home — fair Cora's mine ! 
Our future years are winged with gold ; 
The goal is won — my tale is told ! 




